


Riker Jackson and the Lightning Snatcher

by ViperAssassin



Category: Percy Jackson & the Olympians: The Lightning Thief (2010), Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/M, Other, Percy and Clarisse Friendship, Punk!Percy - Freeform, badass!Percy, no annabeth or grover on quest, percy under a different name, well-integrated OCs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-06 23:51:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 70,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3152945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViperAssassin/pseuds/ViperAssassin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The gods will rue the day they let that Jackson, that rogue son of Sally Jackson and Poseidon, in on his heritage. And Riker Jackson, well, he's ready to turn this world of Greek Mythology upside down. With his new friends, he might do just that. Besides, it's boring enough already. Time to make heads roll. Badass!Punk!Confident!Percy, AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

_Yo, my name's Percy Jackson._

_Okay, that's a lie. It used to be Percy Jackson, but I changed it after convincing my mother that Perseus/Percy was a real pansy name. She happened to agree, it was dear dad's idea, after all. Now, let me start over with the truth._

_My name, punks, is Riker Adley Jackson. I happen to really like it, so if you have any problems, please keep them to yourselves. Otherwise I might have to teach some people a lesson._

_Anyway, I should probably get on with this, and tell you the reason I'm actually addressing you lowlife's in the first place. I'll just be blunt, come right out with it so none of us are confused. I am a half-blood. Any racists out there may politely die in a hole, because, no, that's not what I meant. Half-blood, demigod. That's right. One of my parents, perhaps the less... coolest one, was a god. My father, in fact, was one of the twelve Olympians of the Greek Pantheon._

_I really don't care for him all that much. Or his brother, Mr. Thunderwear—because I think Uncle Hades is the best, personally, but that's not important right now._

_Some of you might think that is cool. It's certainly interesting, yeah. But awesome? … Okay, it's pretty damn awesome, in my opinion—but it's not a good thing, not in the least. It's actually a really unfortunate existence. You're chased endlessly by monsters, and, usually, at least one of your parents(it's mostly the immortal one) doesn't give a rat's ass about you or what's happening to you. You're just the results of a one night stand, is most often the case with us demigods._

_I'm not gonna lie. I actually happen to really like being what I am. I some pretty bad-ass powers that normal mortals don't have the genes for. My reflexes? Awesome. Totally legit. Swords are a common sight for me, inf fact I almost hardly notice them anymore. My bedroom at home is the equivalent to a weapons vault-it's pretty damn sweet, if you ask me. And yeah, I guess life could be better. The monster's could grow some brains and leave me the hell alone so I can actually get some life lived. The gods could stand to lend a hand to us—it is their fault we exist, after all. My dad could get off his ass and visit my mum once in a while-but life, it isn't perfect like that. You just got to deal with it. So, I did. Percy Jackson changed. He changed into Riker Adley Jackson. And, let me tell you—Riker Adley Jackson is one of the most legit guys you will ever meet._

_If you don't believe me, that's fine. Read ahead. If you do believe me, that's alright too. Go on. But if you see and resemblance to your own life in these pages... I honestly can say ta I don't necessarily care, and that you should read on anyway so you can be at least prepared for what's to come—but I'll be "responsible and give you a warning. Turn back now. Set this book down and never—never—pick it up again._

_Chiron's words, not mine, but that's not really the point right now. The aforementioned point is; this here is my story—my life. Read it if you want, I won't mind._

_Just don't dis it. I can't promise you'll wake up again tomorrow._

_Just a warning._

**Chapter One**

Riker didn't have the best life. He didn't have much money, he didn't have the nicest home, he didn't have very many friends. What you probably wouldn't guess, though, is that he's a bit proud of those facts. His motto is "Life is boring, so make heads roll."

It's a good phrase to live by, in his opinion. The reason he is without friends, really, is because everyone else—they're all too scared of him. The normal ones, at least. He had a few buddies that he met up with in the alleys at night and hung around with, but they didn't necessarily count. Riker wasn't a fool, he knew they'd sell him down the river at the first sign of trouble. But that was fine, he'd do the same.

Honestly, the only bright thing in his life was, aside form the fact that he was the coolest teen to grace the humble dust of this earth, his mother.

That's right. Riker s a momma's boy—and he's not afraid to admit that. His mother, Sally Jackson, was the coolest woman in the fabric of reality. At least, that was Riker's thoughts.

She worked in a candy shop, and always brought back a bag to share with her son when the weekends rolled in. Everything was blue, of course, since Riker's favorite color's were blue and black. Sometimes Sally slipped in some black licorice, which Riker loved the most, but the teen was just content enough to sit down on the couch, munch on candy, and talk with his mother about anything at all. Life, chores, school, jobs, homework, the future, the past, what did Riker want to do for the summer? Should Sally rent out their usual cabin in Montuak? What lowlife had asked Sally out on a date this week? Should Riker get prepared to back some faces in?

What Riker loved most, aside from his mother, about his life was the utter danger it presented him. Sure, his motto said Life was overall boring, and that was true, but Riker's posed a bit of a challenge. He loved it, the adrenaline, the rush, the risks he chose to take when running away from those... things that chased him almost continuously. He loved it. It was  _fun_.

The thing Riker hated most about is life, however, unfortunately lived in the same apartment. It was a disgusting thing, smelling, filthy. Riker was certain it's parents had never been married at all when they had had it. It's name was Gabe. Gabe Ugliano. As in "Oo-glee-ano." Riker purposefully mispronounced it.

"Sally!" A voice that would make anyone cringe in dislike called out from the front room. Riker scowled from his place on his pitch black bed-spread as his mother stood up slowly from her place beside him. The white paper bag of candy that sat between them crinkled a little and Riker tossed it onto his desk, sending a discontent look in his mother's direction. Sally sighed. "Sorry, hon."

"Can't I  _dispose_  of him?" Riker drawled out, glaring at the wall. We both know he deserves it, yeah."

" _No_ , Rike. You can't." Sally sent him a look, and the lithe teen of a pretty average height sunk down on his mattress, looking disappointed. "One of these days," he swore, "that man will  _die_."

Sally let out a huff and smacked the back of Riker's head, to which the teen responded with a yelp. "Oi! Fine, I apologize. You accept it. Go make the fucke—lowlife his bean-dip, or whatever incredibly important, life-sustaining force he needs." Riker rolled his eyes when Sally's face darkened, quickly changing the curse into another words directly from his vocabulary.

"What did I say about swearing? Riker!" Sally shook her head as Gabe shouted for her again. "Sally! C' _mon_!" Riker growled, but stopped from dashing out of the room to throttle the man when his mother held up a hand. "I'll take care of it, hon. Just relax, okay? Why don't go finish that homework that Mr. Brunner assigned you this weekend? Aren't you excited? I mean, you only have one more week left of school!"

It was a pretty distinct fact that Riker has never stayed in a school for more than one year—most of the time he was expelled before the year could even end. Sally was pretty excited for him, when he noticed he hadn't been expelled from his latest school, Yancy Academy, yet.

"I know," Riker groaned. "And the moronic teach just  _had_  to schedule a field trip on the last week? Can't they give us any time to finish all the damn assignments they give us to complete before the year ends, yeah?"

Sally waved her hand as she walked out of the room in the midst of Gabe's hollering. Riker scowled once again and rolled over on his bed. "Fucker!" He growled under his breath. "He's playing  _poker_ , dammit! What could possibly be so important?" The teen let out an exaggerated sigh, lying on his back for a moment before swinging his legs up and flipping off of the mattress. He sauntered over to the closet and stripped off his school uniform, sneering at it as it fell to the floor. "Stupid school, damn board of administrators. Uniforms, who needs them?" He grumbled lowly to himself as he tore open his closet door and took out his usual outfit—which consisted of black jeans(not skinny jeans—he wasn't a  _girl_ , for crying out loud, but he didn't like pants flopping all around his calves when he walked) that tucked into black combat boots that went up to his knees with buckles and very thin chains instead of laces. He pulled a tight, white wife beater over his head, then slipped on his chain mail shirt that fit nice and snug, hugging his rather nicely formed muscles. Over that went a black leather jacket and a chain around the neck holding a silver pendant shaped like a star with the kanji for chaos inked on it in black.

Riker stumbled over to the mirror than hung on the wall across the room and stared at his reflection. His hair was pitch black and spiky, short in the back with two, not particularly long bangs that hung on either side of his face. His skin was slightly tan form the summers spent at the beach, and his green-blue eyes sparkled so brightly that it had to be illegal  _somewhere_. He had a small, gold hoop pierced though the cartilage near the top of his left ear, and a small, silver stud shaped like a star to match his pendant in the lobe of his right. He tilted his head to the right and reached down to slide his shirt up and turned slightly, grinning when he saw the black, beautifully inked tattoo on his hip. It was a white skull with a crack in the crown, with the kanji for destruction, war, and victory situated around it. The eye sockets were suck a deep black that it made the rest of the art pop out at you, looking undeniably realistic.

Sure, it was a bit much for a twelve year old, but that didn't exactly matter to Riker, or his pals. And Sally supported her son in whatever road he wanted to take, even if she didn't necessarily approve wholeheartedly. "This is me," Riker once told her, and she had to agree, if only slightly.

Plus, Riker looked about two years older than he actually was. That helped a bit. Kind of.

"Punk!" Riker's expression darkened as Gabe's voice sounded again, this time calling for the younger Jackson. "Get in here!"

Riker threw his hands up, storming into the front room. He'd had enough for today. "Listen, asswipe! I don't care what you have to say! Stuff that damned mouth of yours with those disgusting nachos and shut the hell  _up_!"

oOoOo

"Percy!" A voice bleated over the chaos that was the School corridor, as the students got ready to leave for the field trip to the local museum. Riker felt his eyes twitch, and he turned around to see a nerdy, wimpy looking teen with the start of a intensely scraggly beard stumbling over toward him. Riker knew his name was Grover, but he couldn't figure out the last name. Grover had, sometime during the start of the year, hopped into Riker's shadow and now refused to leave. It was annoying, and Riker was extremely frustrated. The pansy just wouldn't leave him be! "Grover," Riker reluctantly replied, seeing the other teens face light up. "How... nice, to see you." Sure, he didn't like the other male at all, not really, but he wasn't an asshole. He could tolerate him, just enough tat he didn't hurt the other boy's feelings. That may make him sound soft, but he just didn't want to come out as a jackass. " _What_  have I told you about calling me by that name, yeah?"

Grover winced as he approached, wobbling just slightly. Riker resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Grover couldn't do PE since he had some type of bone disease in his legs, but Riker wasn't convinced. He'd seen the wimp book it during Enchilada Thursday in the cafeteria. It was like a cheetah racing after a bloody antelope. Grover ate like it, too. It was a bit disturbing. "Sorry, Riker. I forgot."

"Well, don't do it again!" Riker smacked the boy on the back of the head, then watched with a smirk as the shorter teen moved like lightning and stopped his hat from flying off, eyes looking panicked. Riker wasn't sure what Grover was hiding, but the wimp sure kept it under tight security. "And how many times have I asked—why the hell are you following me all the freaking time, yeah? You're like a stalker and, no offense, man, but you're creeping me out." He held out his hands as if to calm a wild animal when indirectly insulting the boy, but Grover waved it away.

"Sorry, Pe—Riker," the teen cringed as Riker glared at him dangerously. "I just wanna hand out with you, ya know? We're friends, right?"

"... Right..." Riker responded, doubtiously, but Grover didn't seem to notice. "Okay! Let's go, they're loading up the bus, see?" He pointed, and Riker spun on his heel waving a hand in the air to dismiss the other boy. "Whatever."

The ride to the museum was pretty uneventful, unless you counted a girl, you was crushing hard on Riker, by the way, chucking ketchup sandwiches at the back of Grover's head exciting. Nancy was a tough-type bulky girl, but she was pretty much queen of Yancy, according to the social ladder. Riker was king, of course—it was pretty obvious, really-but the teen really didn't care enough to even notice.

Things did get a little tense, though, when one of the lunch missiles swerved and accidentally hit Riker instead. A look of horror passed across Nancy's face, and all the kids who saw immediately cringed away. Riker just turned to glare at the girl, though, and everyone relaxed once the raven-haired teen shoved Grover  _good-naturally_  off of the bus seat and into the isle. Though, to be fair, Grover just dusted himself off and sat back down with a grin. Riker fought off the urge to just give in and let his eyebrow twitch, but it was almost a loosing battle.

"Everyone off!" Mrs. Dodds, their math teacher, roared in her dry,irritated voice. All of the student stampeded toward the sliding yellow door. Riker hopped up onto his seat and raced across the tops of the bus benches. Some students who still weren't used to him stopped and stared with slightly slack jaws, but Riker only smirked at them then flipped forward through the door. Parkour and freestyle only made him  _that_  much more awesome than he already was, and he was a master of both.

"Riker!" Nancy called out, rushing after him as he came to a stop at the fountain. Riker rolled his eyes discreetly, but decided to put on a show, lest he lose his position of king. After all, the king must associate with the queen sometimes, right?

"'Allo, sweetheart." Riker slipped an arm around the girls waist and the other girls around them tittered in jealousy, but Nancy's eyes shone in excitement. Riker smirked. "And what did you need, yeah?"

Nancy shook her head and giggled. "Nn-nothing! I just wanted to walk with you! Wanna... wanna partner up for the tour?" Riker saw Grover frown out of the corner of his eye, and he grinned. "That would be fabulous, I think. Sure." He shrugged as the girl cheered and raced of, giggling with her posse as they loitered around and picked the pockets of the nearby tourists.

"Yo," Riker turned to stare at Grover as he spoke. "Problem?"

Grover quickly raised an eyebrow, masking the frown he'd had on only seconds before. "No. What?"

Riker rolled his eyes. "You wanted to be my partner, didn't ya?"

Grover crossed his arms. "Well, maybe, yeah. But that's fine. I don't care."

Riker raised his own eyebrow and shrugged. "Sure, whatever." But as he turned, he saw that worried look on Grover's face, and he felt just a pang of guilt. But he quickly brushed it off and continued on his way, lining up with the other kids as they made to enter the museum.

**oOoOo**

"—and can someone tell me who Kronos was?" Mr. Brunner, a stringy brown haired man who sat in a wheelchair raised an eyebrow t the group. "Anyone? Ah, Mr. Jackson. Do you mind?"

Riker blinked as he was brought of of his boredom-insituated daze, then focused on the teacher. "Mmm..." He rolled his eyes, "Hn. Kronos was the Titan lord of Time. He had a wife named Rhea, and he was the father of most of the gods and goddesses, like Poseidon, Hades, Hestia, all that. He had shi—ps for brains, though, and ate his children cuz he thought they'd betray him and take his throne, blah blah blah—you're run-of-the mill psycho king with superiority complex, yeah. Even though he was scared of his kids taking over, he stupidly had another kid anyway—as I said, a moron—and Rhea didn't like the fact that he ate her children, so she gave him a rock covered in, like, mustard or somthing-I forgot," he shamelessly clarified to the disappointed look on Mr. Briunner's voice, and grinned as the students around him snickered. "Anyway, Kronos was  _so_  stupid, that he proves my point by eating the rock instead of the id, who turned out to be Zeus. Kronos' kids were immortal, being gods and goddesses, that they were growing up in his stomach since they couldn't be digested. What a terrible childhood to have, yeah?" Riker cackled. "So, uh-huh. Zues grew up, blah blah, he battled his dad eventually, blah blah, he won, chopped his pops into a thousand pieces and threw his mangled body into the pits of Tartar Sauce—or Tards, Tartarus, yeah. The end!" The teen smiled cheekily at the crippled teacher, who only sighed as the children around them giggled and laughed.

"That.. is correct." Mr Brunner sighed, then rolled his wheelchair over to the next exhibit. Riker followed him, his arm loosely wrapped around Nancy's shoulders. He'd eventually get tired and ditch her somehow, but for now he was content at the jealous looks that the other males sent him.

This one was a tombstone of some long-dead Greek girl, but Riker frowned slightly as he saw the expression on Mr. Brunner's face. Like he'd known the girl.

Yeah, right.

Eventually they went back outside for lunch, and Riker entertained his audience by shoving a very quick to forgive Grover into the fountain. He was led inside by Mrs. Dodds in the midst of the laughing students. It's not like he wanted to follow the hag, but he wanted to avoid suspension or expulsion anyway. His mom would be disappointed his he ditched this school as well.

Mrs. Dodds turned to him as they entered an empty exhibit, and Riker had the distracted thought that being completely along with her like this might have been a bit illegal on her part, but he shrugged it off and tuned into the old lady's rant. It was something about him being a thief—nothing new, of course—and that the gods would punish him. Scrawny little son of Poseidon he was.

Riker paused, then blinked slowly and focused on Mrs. Dodds—he was beginning to suspect that that wasn't who she actually was—as she finished he rant and looked at him expectantly. "Give it back, you filthy half-blood!"

Riker raised an eyebrow. "Uh... meh? You okay, lady?" Scratch that, she seemed a bit off her rocker. "What you talking about, yeah?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Son of Poseidon!" The hag screeched and jumped back a good fifteen feet. And as Riker stood, strongly impressed—she was totally fit for an old grandma—the lady turned into an _actual_  hag. "Return what you stole and perhaps Lord Hades will make your death quick!"

Riker observed her for a few seconds, before letting out a long suffering sigh and plopped down on the floor, Indian style. The hag—a real hag, would you believe it?—stopped short and glared at him, slightly puzzled. He shrugged at her. "Oi, I have no clue what you're going on about, lady... whatever you are. You're talking like the Greek myths are real or something."

The hag shrieked in rage. "They are, you twat! Now  _die_!"

And as his math teacher suddenly grew wings and very sharp and deadly-looking claws, Riker had the vague thought that, maybe, he would actually die today. Huh.


	2. Fruit Stand of Destiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riker meets three little old ladies who knit the biggest pair of socks he's ever laid eyes on, and who sell fruit. Delicious fruit. Very delicious fruit. And cider. Riker loves cider.  
> Old ladies aren't so bad.

_I have never really though abut it. How I would die. If I ever had, I'm guessing that I'd ask a few questions, sure. Where would it be? Who would I be with? When would it happen? How?_

_And, even though I haven't really thought to ever ask myself those questions, I already have all the answers._

_At the museum._

_With my math teacher._

_Sometime after lunch. Not really sure what time it was._

_Math teacher transforms into a hag and claws my insides out._

_Yeah. It wasn't sounding too dignified for me. But, hey, at least I went in a pretty unique way, right?_

**Chapter Two**

As the math-teacher-turned-hag readied herself for another swoop, Riker's brain caught up with him, and he realized— _This is actually happening! You lucky bastard!_

Because, honestly, how many teens dreamed about getting the chance to off their math teacher? And here he was!  _Dream come true!_

"Stay still and let me kill you, half-blood scum!" The hag shrieked. Riker raised an eyebrow at her—was it even  _female_? Did it  _have_  a gender? He shuddered—and the teen scoffed. "As if, bitch! Bastard? Ugh. Whatever!"

The hag screamed at him in rage, and Riker ducked an incoming swoop. He cheered. "Whoohoo! This is awesome!"  _I'm fighting a hag... Fighting a hag... Haha!_ He cackled.

"Percy!" A voice that Riker would have never dreamed to hear in a situation like this, ever, called out, and Riker turned. "Grover? … Mr. Brunner?" Unfortunately, the hag took his distraction to her advantage, and Riker narrowly missed getting his head lopped of. "What are  _you_  doing here?"

They didn't reply. Instead, "Catch, Mr. Jackson—" and Mr. Brunner threw something at him. Riker caught it.

"A... pen?"

The crippled teacher nodded seriously. "Take this to defend yourself. It's a powerful weapon. Guard it well. Only use it in times of severe distress."

Riker blinked, slowly. "This.. is a pen. This is a  _pen_." Grover nodded at him.

Riker huffed. "Some help you two were... Now go away! Lemme die in peace!" He spun around and started laughing. "C'mon, grandma! Bite me!"

The hag swooped down once more, and Mr. Brunner shouted. "The pen, Mr. Jackson! Uncap it!"

 _It's just a freaking pen!_ Riker rolled his eyes, but uncapped it. His eyes widened. "And poof! Shakespeare, come alive!" He grinned, and charged the hag, burying the sword up to the hilt in her chest. "Aw, yeah!" He spun around, and frowned.

Mr. Brunner and Grover were gone.

"Oi!"

oOoOo

"Riker!" Nancy pranced over to him. He held out an arm, and she clung to it. "Oh, I hope Mrs. Kerr didn't suspend you or anything!"

Riker paused, raising an eyebrow at her. "Kerr? Who's that? I thought her name was Mrs.  _Dodds_  or something..."

Nancy and the other students laughed. "I guess her name isn't really important." But Riker frowned. He'd heard her call her "Mrs. Dodds" only that morning. Had something... happened? Well, aside from him killing his math teacher...  _Holy shit,_ he grinned.  _I killed my math teacher!_

Was this what happened when a student brought that particular dream to life? Did the Math teacher Society or something just replace the math teacher? It must have been Mr. Brunner...

Riker looked at the teacher, fingering the pen in the pocket of his jacket. It was a nice pen... He loved it. Perhaps, if he was a better person, he'd return it—it was— _had been_ —Mr. Brunner's hadn't it?—but he  _really_  wanted to keep it...

"Ah, Mr. Jackson." Suddenly, Mr. Brunner was in front of him. "My pen, if you would?"

Riker started; he hadn't realized he'd taken the pen out of his pocket and was now twirling it in his fingers absentmindedly. The teen stared at his expectant teacher, then slowly, as the man watched, slipped the pen back in his pocket. "What pen?"

Mr. Brunner frowned, and examined him for a few moments. And in those few moments, Riker felt as if his very soul was being scanned by those sharp, ancient looking eyes. And Riker wasn't one to be poetic, so that was saying something. The dude freaked him out—but he  _did_  give him a awesome pen... So he decided the point was balanced out.

Eventually, Mr. Brunner shook his head. "Please bring your own writing utensil next time, Mr. Jackson?" And then he wheeled himself away. Riker stared after him.

"... That was creepy..." Nancy commented, after awhile, and Riker nodded in agreement.

Mr. Brunner was really old, he'd finally realized.

Hey, maybe he had known that dead Greek girl after all.

oOoOo

"— _They found him. He's in danger."_

" _A Kindly One! They sent a Kindly One_ _ **here**_ _!"_

" _We will have to be very careful, these next few days. Riker remains unaffected by the Mist we used to_ _cover "Mrs. Dodds'" disappearance.I do not know how much longer he will let it lie."_

" _I told you he was powerful, Chiron. I'm really glad you came down here. I wouldn't have known what to do."_

" _Thank you for notifying me, Grover. At times like this, it is best to have all of our aces close to us—and Mr. Jackson is most definitely an Ace in the hole."_

_I didn't know he played golf._

Riker was on the bus home. School was finally over, and he hadn't been expelled. He didn't want to go back there next year, though. Huh, Nancy and some other girls would be disappointed, maybe, but Riker couldn't seem to care. He was still mulling over the conversation he'd overheard between Grover, who sat next to him, bouncing nervously, and Mr. Brunner—or Chiron? Wasn't he that horse-centaur guy from mythology?

Grover was nervous. He kept fidgeting, and looking around. Riker was starting to get annoyed. He leaned back in his seat and braced one arm across the back of the bus seat. "Looking for Kindly Ones?" He drawled casually.

Grover nearly jumped out of his seat "Wha—what do you mean?"

Riker told him about his eavesdropping, and Grover sunk down in his seat. "H-How much did you hear?"

"Oh..." Riker tilted his head back and thought for a moment. "Not much... What's the summer solstice deadline for?"

Grover winced. "Percy— _Riker_." He corrected himself. "I was just worried for you, see? I mean, you were hallucinating about demon math teachers ..."

"Grover, man, listen." Riker held up a hand, and his demanding attitude made Grover stop to listen. "You, my stalker, are a really,  _really_  bad liar..." He tilted head head to the side. uncaring.

Grover's ears turned pink. From his shirt pocket, he fished out a grubby business card. "Just take this, okay? In case you need me this summer."

_Grover Underwood_

_Keeper_

_Half-Blood Hill_

_Long Island, New York_

_(800)009-0009_

Riker raised an eyebrow. "What's this?"

"It's my.. um, my summer address!" Grover yelped when Riker reached over to twist his ear. "Uh  _huh_. So tell me... What the fuck is a keeper? Is this some kind of crappy romance camp? What the hell, man?"

"No," Grover groaned, flopping down in his seat. "It's just.. A house I stay at, during the summer."

Riker rolled his eyes. "Right, sure. So.. if I wanted to freeload at your mansion or something, right?"

Grover nodded hesitantly. "Or.. or if you ever needed me.."

"Why the hell would I  _need_  you?" Riker snapped, irritated. He wasn't some kid! Thouh, he kind of wanted to take the words back when he saw the hurt look in Grover's eyes. Almost. Not  _really_.  _ **Nope**_...

Grover blushed. "Look, Riker, the truth is, I—I kind of have to protect you..." Riker looked at him oddly. He was the one who had to protect  _Grover_  back in the school.

" _Riiight_... Tell me, Grover; what are you protecting me from, yeah?" Riker glared. "I can take of my own damn self, you know."

There was a huge grinding noise under our feet. Black smoke poured from the dashboard and the bus filled with a smell like rotten eggs. The driver cursed and slowly rolled the Greyhound over to the side of the highway. After a few minutes clanking around in the engine compartment, the driver popped back in, and irritated look on his face, and announced, "Everyone out." The two teens filed outside with everybody else.

"Why the hell would someone put a fruit stand in the middle of nowhere?" Riker pointed out, when they were on the stretch of country road with everyone else. Grover's eyes widened as he spotted where Riker was gesturing at. The stuff on sale looked really good—heaping boxes of blood-red cherries and apples, walnuts and apricots, jugs of cider in a claw-foot tub full of ice. There were no customers, though, just three old women sitting in rocking chairs in the shade of a maple tree, knitting the biggest pair of socks Riker had  _ever_  seen.. The woman on the right knitted one of them. The woman on the left knitted the other. The woman in the middle held an enormous basket of electric-blue yarn. All three women looked ancient, with pale faces wrinkled like fruit leather, silver hair tied back in white bandana, bony arms sticking out of bleached cotton dresses. The weirdest thing was they seemed to be looking right at Percy.

"Huh. Wow, now I'm really hungry." He glanced back at Grover, who stood frozen staring that the three old women, and began to make his way over to the stand. Grover snapped out of it when Riker was three feet away, and raced after him with a panicked expression. "Percy,  _no_!"  
"My  _name_ ," the teen scowled "is  _Riker_! Remember it!" He cffed the smaller ten on the back of the head. Grover winced. "S-Sorry. But no! Riker, we have to leave! Let's get back on the bus! Now!"

"Hell no!" Riker yelped. "You serious, man? It's not fixed yet, the driver ordered us the fuck off, and it smells like rotten eggs. Please." He sniffed. "Besides, what you so scared of, wimp? They're just three old ladies. Selling  _really_  good looking food. Oi," he spoke to the lady that held the basket of yarn. "What's the cost?"

The woman raised an eyebrow at him, as if wondering who the hell he was. Riker thought, perhaps, that it was because they didn't get many customers despite the good looking food—he'd felt weird when approaching them, like his body wanted to get the fuck away, but his stomach wanted to food. He listened to his stomach. Though, it felt like these ladies knew him.. It was a bit creepy.

"Fifty cents a fruit," she spoke in a raspy voice, like she'd never heard of water before in her long-looking life. "Though, you can get a handful of the cherries for the same, and the cider. We also offer fortune-telling.." She eyes him like he was eying the fruit right then, but Riker was paying attention. Grover looked about to pass out. Riker waved a hand dismissively. "Nah, I'm good. Don't like that crap, no offense. It's my future, and I'll make it whatever I want it to be. I ain't gonna have anyone tell me what's gonna happen. Prophecy shit and all that can go die in a hole. My life, y'know?" He raised an eyebrow, and held up an apricot, an apple, plum, and peach in one hand, and two bags—one of cherries, and a smaller one of walnuts—in the other. "And I'll take three cups of that cider, yeah?"

the three woman had stopped knitting sometime while he was talking, and were now staring at him. The middle one smiled. "Your life, yes. That will be $5.50. Pleasure to do bussiness. We don't get many customers, Riker Adley Jackson."  
Riker stared at them for a second, surprised, then decided that it was just an old lady thing. Still, how had they known his name? "I don't see why," He mused. "This fruit looks awesome, yeah."

The lady knitting the left sock nodded, humming as she filled three bottles with cider, while the lady on the right scoped up some ice. "Yes. This fruit gives you power. We are interested that you are the only one who welcomes it like this. You can change fate—this fate," the lady in the middle hefted up the largest pair of scissors that Riker had yet to lay eyes on, and snipped a strand of the thread as he watched, interested, "you can change."  
"Yeah, sure thing!" Riker waved as he pushed his purchase into Grover's trembling hands, and reached for the bottles of cider, exchanging money with the lady in the middle. These ladies wierded him out, a bit, but he liked the conversation they'd had. They weren't too bad, like  _some_  old people he'd met. The lady holding the basket handed him their card, and Riker dragged Grover away, waving cheerfully.

When they reached the other side of the road again, Riker snapped his eyes to Grover, who was white and shaking. "What, you got grandma-phobia or some shit?" He asked. "Chillax, Grover! I got  _food_ , see? You  _like_  food!"

"No, Riker, y-you don't understan—"

At the rear of the bus, the driver wrenched a big chunk of smoking metal out of the engine compartment.

The bus shuddered, and the engine roared back to life. The passengers cheered., and Riker pumped a fist into the air, grinning. "Whoohoo!"  
"Darn right!" Yelled the driver in response, and the passengers laughed. The man slapped the bus with his hat. "Everybody back on board!"

 


	3. Guy's a Real Ass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabe had warned not to scratch the paint job, but Riker REALLY wanted to scratch the paint job. It was an urge. He NEEDED to do it. Flipping the car over by getting hit by lightning seemed the way to go.   
> Opportunities like that just don't show themselves everyday.

_I ditched Grover at the bus station, after he took a trip to the bathroom._

_Honestly, he was beginning to weird me out._

_School year was over anyway. It was about damn time for me to leave that crazy stalker behind me._

_Maybe if I'd known this would happen? Would I have kept him around, especially if I'd known what, exactly, he was?_

_... Nah, I doubt it._

_That sentence sounded cliché anyway._

**Chapter Three**

Riker's mom's apartment was somewhere in Queens. He didn't really mind it. It was home, he grew up here. Well, here and that awesome cabin in Montuak, during the summers. Still, the apartment wasn't exactly luxurious, and there were times when Riker would wish they'd lived somewhere more... well, less ghetto.

But that didn't really bother him all that much anymore. People like him were found in the ghetto. This, this was...

"Honey, I'm  _home_!" Riker let the world be hollered from his lips as he slammed apartment 27B's door open. It crashed into the wall and he took a confident step across the threshold.

"Punk! How many times to I have to tell ya not to do that?!"

Yeah, it was his home. No matter what disgusting, rotting pig lived there with him.

"Oh, I wouldn't know," Riker rolled his eyes. Maybe his mother wasn't home from work yet? The hog seemed more irritable, like he hadn't had his Mexican food yet. "I never listen when you do. You should know this by now, fucker. Riker Jackson don't listen to  _no_  lowlife." He walked up to the man's poker table—where three other obese men sat—and lifted a leg, letting his combat boot come thundering down on Gabe's hold of cards. It was a trashy hand anyway. The jackass should be thanking him, really. " _Especially_  one that fucks up me and my mum's life, yeah?"

"Shitty little brat," Gabe muttered, shoving Riker's foot off the table. He held out an grubby, expectant hand to the teen. "Give me that money for this next round."

Riker drew himself back room the offending limb. " _Excuse_  me, bastard? What money? Even if I had some,  _why_  would I fucking give it to you?"

Gabe managed the electronics Mega-Market in Queens, near the apartment He'd actually gotten fatter while Riker had been away at school, even if the teen had only been gone since that morning. He had only three hairs on his head, all combed back as if that made him better looking. His clothes consisted of a baggy white wife-beater, almost soaked in sweat, grime and grease from any fast-food you can name, and gray sweatpants with the same coating, plus some. It made Riker want to wrinkle his nose and shoot the guy with a hydra-pressured water hose.

The obese poker player raised a greasy eyebrow at the teen, who only crossed his arms in defiant. "What the fuck you lookin' at me like that for, you ass?"

"You took a taxi from the bus station, probably paid with a twenty." He said, "You got six, seven bucks in change. Somebody expects to live under this roof, he's gotta carry his own weight. Am I right, Eddie?"

Eddie was the super of their apartment building, and he cast a look of sympathy at Riker, who only clenched his fists at the thought of being pitied. "Come on, Gabe. The kid just got here."

Gabe glared at the guy. "Am I  _right_ , Eddie?"

Eddie only scowled into his bowl of pretzels, choosing to say nothing. The other two guys glanced at each other, before beginning a battle for the last slice of pepperoni pizza.

Riker only stared at his so-called step-father in no-less shock than he would give a purple and pink polka-dotted kangaroo. "Well, holy shit. Draw me a manga and call me Kishimoto, the guy can do  _math_! As in, actual  _math_!" The teen turned to Eddie, who gave him a thin, but amused, smile. "Eddie, did you know this?!"

Eddie let out a single chuckle before turning it into a cough as he drew another card from the deck.

Riker threw up his hands and sent Gabe a heated glare. "No way in hell, fucker, am I funding your poker addiction. So dream on." He spun around and stormed off to his room.

"Your report card just came in, brain boy!" Gabe yelled after him. "I wouldn't be so damn snooty!"

"Can't he think of a better insult?" Riker groaned to himself as he slammed the door to his room, falling onto the bed. "He can't even do  _that_  right! Honestly, why the fuck did mom ever agree to marry this sleezebag?!"

Riker froze, laid out straight on his bed, his shoulders pressing into the mattress, muscles locked in tension.

Maybe it was because of him?

Was this his fault?

He didn't know how, but it might be true. Gabe was here because of...  _him_?

It didn't make any sense, but Riker couldn't think of any other reason that Sally put up with Gabe. She sure as hell didn't love him, Riker wasn't fooling himself or Gabe for that.

The teen clenched his fists, letting out a low growl from the back of his throat. "Fucker gonna die," he hissed out, hand flying toward the top drawer of his nightstand. It was his special drawer. Holding all of his... well, sharper belongings.

He stared at his open hand for a moment, not even sitting up from his position. His hand reached only half a foot from the table-top, much less able to open the drawer without him moving. Slowly, he clenched the hand into a fist and pounding it to his side, deeply into his black comforter. He let out a strangled sigh and shook his head, squeezing his eye closed. He felt hot, warm, and sweaty, like he'd come down with a fever all of a sudden. The sound of yarn snipping sounding in his mind, and he had a sudden flashback to the three old ladies' fruit stand on the side of the road. He didn't think that sound could ever be described as ominous, but here he was. It made him shiver.

Riker's eyes flew open, then, in a sudden recollection. His fisted hand unclenched and fumbled with the pocket of his jacket, searching until it pressed against a small, rectangular piece of card stock. He pulled it out and brought it in front of his face, squinting at the fancy script. So many times before he'd cursed his dyslexia, but not as much as now. Slowly but surely, like they were wiggling across Jell-O, the letters repositioned themselves until they made out clear words. And numbers, actually.

_The Three Fates_

_Road-Side Fruit Stand of Destiny_

_(XXX,XXX,XXXX)_

_[only call in dire circumstances]_

_[or if you need a snack]_

Riker blinked. Well, check it out, he'd been right. Those three grandma's were loopy in the head after all. "I mean, Fruit Stand of Destiny? What the fuck?"

"Riker!" A woman's voice called from his door, "How many  _times_  have I spoken to you about cussing like that?!"

Riker jumped up from his bed and looked to the hall. His face broke into a smile. "Mom!"

Sally Jackson gave him a tired smile, shaking her head. "What am I going to do with you?" But she came across the threshold and wrapped Riker in a hug anyway.

Riker's mother could make him feel good just by walking into the room. Her eyes were always sparkling and changing color in the light. Her smile was as warm as a summer night toasting marshmallows around a fire. She had a few gray hairs mixed in with her thick chocolate mane, but Riker had never once thought of her as old. The only wrinkles she had were the crinkles at the edge of her gray eyes from smiling so much, and she smelled like the candy shop she worked in every day and the cookies she would bake at night. When she looked at Riker, it was like she was only seeing all of the good things about him, and never the bad things.

He'd never heard her raise her voice or say any unkind word to anyone, not even to him or Gabe.

"Hey, honey." Sally gave him a heart-warming smile. "Welcome home."

"You too, mom." Riker grinned, before flopping back down onto his bed with a dramatic sigh. Sally gave a roll of her eyes and sat down next to his sprawled out form. "How was school? It was your last day. I hope you didn't get into any trouble." But her eyes were shining along with her smile, and Riker knew she was only teasing. Even if he'd told her he'd gotten expelled, he didn't think she'd think any less of him. That's one of the reasons he loved her so much.

Riker breathe in the scent of his mother, and gave a smirk. Sally's red-white-and-blue Sweet on America uniformed smelled like all the best things in the world; chocolate,  _licorice_ , taffy, and all the other things she sold at the shop at Grand Central. In her hand was a large bag filled with samples for him, like she always got him at the end of a school-year.

"I survived," he finally replied, slipping the strange old ladies' business card into his the back pocket of his school uniform. He'd think on it later, especially once he was dressed in a more suitable outfit than this. "I wasn't expelled or anything, and my final scores weren't  _that_  bad."

"You're a smart boy, Riker," she told him knowingly. "Sometimes I'd imagine you fail tests on purpose!"

"Mom!" Riker whined, bringing up his hands as if to defend himself from an oncoming attack. "I've never outright  _failed_  a test! It's always a C or higher!"

Sally gave a laugh—it sounded like the tinkling silver bells that they hung for the Macy's Parade, and in the streets around Christmastime. Riker loved that about her, too. "I know, sweetheart, I'm only teasing you."

She reached over to tousle his hair while Riker attacked the box of black licorice. She'd always bring three of those, and he'd finish one before everything else, after he was done with the rest, and save the last for later. He'd never finished the entire bag in a single week before. Sally wouldn't let him.

"Mom! Stop! You know I hate that!" Riker huffed, before chuckling and swiping playfully at her hand. Here with her, with his mother, he didn't have to worry about keeping up the King of the Popularity Ladder act, or making sure everything anyone saw him do was the coolest thing they could think of to see. With his mother, he could just be himself. Well, most of himself.

She still wouldn't let him curse, dammit.

He shook his head, letting his hair fall back into place like it always did when he had this style, and told the woman she was smothering him. Sally only laughed, and they both knew Riker secretly was very, very glad to see her and didn't actually mind her so-called "smothering."

"Sally!" Gabe's voice suddenly called from the other room. "Hey—how about some bean dip, huh?"

Riker leaned against the bed's headboard and let a scowl come across his features. "That guy..." He growled voice trailing off in the end. He knew his mother didn't appreciate foul language, but Gabe deserved it!

Sally only gave him a knowingly look, before shaking her head. But Riker crossed his arms. His mom was th coolest lady in the fabric of reality(he'd put a patent on that phrase, one day. So he swore). She deserved to marry a billionaire, not some dickless bastard like Gabe.

"I didn't mind it all, really," Riker shrugged, choosing to ignore the elephant that was Gabe in the room. "But I don't think I wanna go back to Yancy next year."

Sally tilted her head with a small frown, and Riker immediately looked for someone to punch to wipe the look off her face. "Why?"

"It's just..." Riker gave a sigh and looked to the side. "It's nothing. Never mind. I'll go."

"Riker," his mom leaned forward and set a hand on his arm. "What's wrong with Yancy, sweetheart? It's okay to tell me. I can look for another school."

That was exactly the reason Riker didn't want to tell her in the first place. His mother tried so hard to give him the best. He didn't think they had the budget to have him switch schools entirely. Not since Gabe intruded into their lives. Before, Riker would go to a different school every year since the beginning of his education. It was like a streak. Some instances it was because he'd been expelled, but most of the time Riker just wanted to get to somewhere new and untouched by him. Another fresh-start. He liked wiping the slate clean and starting over. It was refreshing.

But Sally's eyes tugged at Riker's conscience, trying to pull out his secrets. "Did something scare you?"

Riker sat up, staring at her with wide eyes. "What? No! Mom, why would you think that?" he shook his head, flopping back into the bed in defeat. "Nah. It isn't really any different from any of those other times, y'know? I just didn't think it would be possible... now. Not with... everything that's happened, yeah."

Sally's gray eyes flashed, and Riker knew she understood what he meant. A Mr. Ugliano.

Riker thanked any deity that was out there that Sally hadn't taken his last name when she'd... Ugh... married him.

Still. Riker wanted to tell her about Mrs. Dodds, or the three old ladies, or how Grover acted toward the end of the year—despite how little he really cared about any of it; it was just weird!—but he thought it sounded just too... crazy. He'd been a little frightened, actually, when he realized that everyone else wasn't joking about that Mrs. Kerr, and that no one really remembered the -turned-hag. It was like, when he'd killed her, she'd  _disappeared_  from their memories.

That was also another reason. Despite her turning into a hag—which Riker wasn't entirely sure he'd seen(or he wouldn't be, if Grover hadn't been so terrible at lying to him) anymore—he'd still  _killed_  her. He wasn't too certain how his mother would take that...

Sally pursed her lips, and Riker just sank down in his seat, smiling sheepishly. "Heh."

She knew he was holding a lot back, but she didn't push him for answers.

Riker would most likely spill the beans sometimes anyway. He'd always been horrible at keeping secrets from his mother.

But this one... it was just too much. She'd never believe him.

Sally shook her head as if to clear her thoughts, then gave him a gleaming smile. "I've got a surprise for you." She said in a sing-song.

Riker tilted her head, like she'd done earlier, but there was a curious look on his face.

"Where going to the beach!"

Slowly, a grin formed on his lips. "Montuak?"

Sally held a finger to her lips and chuckled. "Three nights, same cabin."

He leaned forward, gripping the sheets. "When?" He could barely keep from vibrating in excitement. Finally, no Smelly Gabe to see when he walked through the door! For three whole entire days, plus some hours! How much better could it get?

"As soon as I get changed," Sally's smile had grown, and she stood up from the bed.

Riker just couldn't believe his luck. They hadn't been to Montuak for the last two summers, because Gabe had said there wasn't enough money. It was probably because he was hoarding it all for himself and spent it on beer and nachos(it was the really cheap kind of nachos, too. With the artificial cheese, pre-sauced, that tasted like plastic and dairy), and Riker still wanted to punch his lights out for it. Just like Gabe had done to him when he had more muscle, the first time Riker refused to fund his poker game. When Riker had woken up, he'd quickly established that even  _touching_  Riker, or his mother, was a  _big_ no-no in the Jackson household.

Safe to say, Gabe had learned his lesson.

Still, just until Sally was ready for Montuak, and then they'd be out of this hellhole that his childhood home had become despite his mother's presence.

Gabe made an appearance in the doorway, and Riker growled. One centimeter over that threshold, and Gabe would be sleeping for the next week, via his fist. That was another House Rule. No Gabe in Riker's room. "Bean dip, Sally? Didn't you hear me?"

Sometimes, Riker wanted to just call the police and report Gabe as a child molester, wife-abuser, and frame him for theft despite him not having done any of such(that Riker knew of). At least that would get the fucker out of his life forever.

Sally gave Riker a look, though, and Riker let out a reluctant sigh. He understood. It was a he'd told himself before. Just until Sally was ready. Then, they'd be home-free. Literally. Home-free, and  _Gabe-free._ It was a dream worth fighting for, tooth-and-nail.

"I was on my way, dear," Riker wanted to gag. He knew Sally didn't have an ounce of feelings for Gabe, so why she called him such names eluded him. "We were just talking about the trip."

Gabe's eyes grew small, and he started to lean forward," but Riker let out an low, almost animalistic growl in warning. The man(or walrus, Riker was having trouble decided sometimes) quickly reeled back into the hallway. "The trip? You mean, you were serious about that?"

Riker scoffed. As if Sally would  _ever_  joke about  _Montuak_!

"Knew it," Riker mumbled to himself. "Bastard won't let us go."

But, lo-and-behold, his mother had heard him, because she replied evenly, "Of course he will. Your step-father is just worried about money That's all. Besides," she added. "Gabriel won't have to settle for just bean-dip. I'll make him enough seven-layer dip for the whole weekend. Guacamole. Sour cream. The works."

Gabe's eyes gained a gleaming glint of eagerness in them. And it made Riker sick. But he'd be away from the man. He just had to wait it out, just a little longer. "So, this money for your trip... It comes out of your clothes budget, right?"

Dafuq? Hell to the no! Riker wanted to rip the man a new one for that. So he could mooch money off of him for poker and waste their allowance of beer, but his mother had to pay for a vacation with the money she set aside for her clothes?

Yes. Riker had already decided long ago, but it was officially confirmed now. The man will  _die_.

"Yes, dear." His mother said. Riker wished that he had her patience. He was beginning to vibrate again.

"And you won't take my car anywhere but there and back?"

 _That ugly thing?_  Riker rolled his eyes.  _Bitch, scratches would make it look_ _ **better**_ _!_

"We'll be very careful."

Gabe scratched his double chin. "Maybe if you hurry with that seven-layer bean dip..." he said, "and, maybe if the brat apologizes for interrupting my poker game."

"Maybe if I kick you in the balls," Riker almost purred at the thought, "and make you sing soprano for a week." _I walked through the fucking front_ _ **door**_ _, jackass._

Sally hushed him, and gave Gabe a smile. "Of course he will. Won't you, Riker?"

Riker crossed his arms and scowled.

"Riker."

He hissed out a stressed breath. "Uh-huh. I apologize, bastard, for interrupting your very important poker game by walking into my own home. You must have been devastated. I'm sure it was incredibly important to you. Go back to it right now."

Gabe stared at him. Like his pea-sized brain was attempting to detect any hint of sarcasm in the statement. Riker doubted it, though. Throughout that entire address, he'd kept an eerily straight face and didn't even change from the monotone he'd began it in.

"Whatever," Gabe mumbled. He went back to his game.

 _Yes, minion._  Riker mentally cackled.  _Obey your master's orders at once!_

Sally let out a sigh, her face twisting down for a moment. "Thank you, Riker. Once we get to Montuak, we can talk about... whatever you've forgotten to tell me, okay?" For a moment, the teen thought he saw a hint of anxiety in her gray eyes. The same fear he'd seen in Grover's eyes back when he'd bought that delicious fruit from the three old ladies' road-side stand. As if she felt a terrifying chill in the air.

 _Shit_ , Riker thought.  _She knows_.

Then, however, Sally smiled again, her eyes reverting to their cheerful sparkles, and Riker relaxed. Maybe... Maybe his mother wouldn't think he was crazy? If he told her after all?

Sally ruffled his hair and went to make Gabe his seven-layer bean dip.

An hour later, Riker slung his backpack over his shoulder and made his way out of his room, locking the bedroom door behind him. He met his mother, and grinned. Off they were.

Gabe took a break from his poker game long enough to watch them lug their bags to the car. He kept griping and groaning about loosing his car for the entire weekend.

"Not one scratch, punk." Gabe said in a warning tone to Riker. "Not one little scratch."

Riker raised a brow. As if the guy drove anywhere in the first place. He lived 24/7 in his own filth. In fact, Riker didn't think he'd ever seen the man even take a shower. He shuddered.

Then, he remembered that he wouldn't be driving either.

He felt slightly disappointed at the lost chance to wreck Gabe's love spectacularly, but there was also irony. That Gabe would threaten him, when the teen was clearly unable to drive.

Well, legally, of course.

As Riker watched Gabe waddle back to the apartment building, he felt his long-time anger spark and flame. He then did something that he, frankly, didn't even expect himself to remember learning. It was a sign he'd actually seen Grover do, many times before. One that warded off evils. He'd thought Grover was just a superstitious freak. But now he wasn't so sure, as he watched the screen door slam shut behind Gabe and clock him on the ass. The man went flying up the stairs as if he'd been shot from a cannon.

Riker blinked, then gave a wicked grin. "Huh. Maybe stalker-boy knew what he was doin' after all?" The tilted his head, then barked out a rough laugh. " _Nah_."

He hopped into the Camaro and glanced at his mother. "Pedal to the metal, mother dear."

Sally only cast him an amused look, before stepping on it.

The rental cabin was on the south shore, way out on the tip of Long Island. It was a large, round thing, with chipping white paint and faded curtains; it had thin walls and was set deep into the dunes. The sheets were always full of sands and the cabinets full of spiders. There was a huge gaping fireplace that took up most of one wall opposite the front door, a narrow side room with half a wall separating it from the main room that was the kitchen, and two more separate rooms with huge, comfy beds and thick quilts and fluffy pillows. It was usually windy outside, especially during the evenings, and the sea was usually too cold to swim in.

Riker absolutely loved it.

He and his mother had been going there since he'd been a baby. Sally even longer. She never exactly mentioned it, but Riker was halfway certain of the reason she loved it so much. It was the place she'd met his vanished father. Riker didn't hold any sort of feelings, good or bad, for the man, but he knew Sally adored him, deeply.

And as they got closer to Montuak, she began to look younger and younger; years of worry and work seemed to just fall of her slim frame. Her deep gray eyes turned the color of the sea, like Riker's were, but a lighter shade, like during the summer instead of the thrashing storm that the teen was defined by.

Once they arrived at sunset, the two opened all the cabin's windows and went through their usual cleaning routine. Riker never really complained about chores, unlike most teens; in fact, he actually enjoyed doing them, especially with his mother. He knew that by cleaning up a little and helping out around the house, maybe even cooking a meal or too, went a long way in taking off the stress form his mother.

Once the finished, the two took a walk down the beach. Riker was barefoot. He'd left his boots, jacket, and fingerless gloves back on his bed and exchanged his jeans for faded blue denim shorts that had used to be jeans, but had had the legs cut off rather raggedly when Riker got too tall for them around a year before. Sally was snug in a gray sweatshirt, a light blue blouse and white capris, also barefooted. She held out a hand and Riker took it, racing her down to the waterfront. Both hopped down on the very edge of the dock and tossed blue corn chips at the seagulls and shared the bag of licorice and taffy and sour strings and everything else that Sally had brought back for Riker from her job at the shoppe.

When it got dark, they made a fire farther back in the dunes. They roasted hot dogs, squash, and marshmallows. Sally told Riker some stories about her life with her parents before they'd been killed in that plane crash when she'd been a little kid. She told about all the books she wanted to write someday, when they had enough money for her to quit the candy shop.

Eventually, Riker got the guts to steer the conversation to the topic that he usually did on very late nights like this. His father. He watched Sally's bright eyes get all misty, and knew she was remembering some of the best years of her life—her words, quote on quote.

"He was kind." She said, with a dreamy look that Riker was more sued to seeing on the girls at school when they realized their crushes for the first time and started staring at the back of the guys' heads in classes. But he thought it suited Sally much more, making her look even younger. Happier. "Tall, handsome, and powerful."

"Like, he was rich or something?" Riker asked, tilting his head to the side with a raised eyebrow.

Sally looked up, blinking. "Well, I guess you could say that."

"Then, why are we so..." The teen shrugged. "Um, less than rich?"

Sally sighed. "Honey, I already—"

"Yeah, I know, I know." Riker rolled his eyes. "He's lost at sea. Not dead, lost at sea. I get it. But, still. Shouldn't we have gotten insurance or something? Especially since he was  _lost at sea_. And hasn't come back yet?"

But his mom just gave him a sorrowful look, and Riker decided to shut up about it.

Sally fished out a jelly bean form the bag and handed it to him. "I wish he could see you now, Riker. He'd be so proud."

The teen suddenly felt angry. Not at his mother, but at his father. And himself. "Proud? Of what, a punk?" He let out a halfhearted scoff. "Like, yeah. I totally believe that. You don't have to say that kind of stuff to make me feel better, Mom."

Sally instantly went on to assure him that she didn't see it that way. That she really meant it. But Riker was a bit doubtful. He knew, sometimes. He'd walk past his mother's room in the middle of the night, o get a drink of water or a midnight snack or something, and he'd hear soft sniffles. He hated when his mom cried. One day, he'd find his father and punch him. Twice; once in the gut, and once in the face to give him a real shiner. One day. Since, well, he wasn't dead—just  _lost at sea._

But he also blamed himself. He knew he wasn't the best son in the world. He could be better. He could give his mother less problems.

"I'm I going to another one of those boarding schools next year?" Riker began, fiddling with his metal utensil, marshmallow still heating up at the end.

Sally pulled off a fully cooked marshmallow from her own. "Riker? I thought we talked about that three years ago, when you got expelled form the last one. No boarding schools again, remember? That's what we agreed on."

"But you're going to send me away again." Riker could feel it in his gut.

Her shoulders sagged, as if that burden that lifted from them when they got to the beach was back. Riker felt guilty. "I don't know, sweetheart. I think... I think we'll have to do something."

"Because you don't want me around—" Riker froze as soon as the words were out, and Sally had spun around to stare at him, eyes welling with tears. "No, Mom. I didn't mean that. I know you'd never feel that way. Sorry."

But Sally still shook her head furiously. "No, Riker, no—I-I  _have_  to. It's for your safety, and... I have to."

"Because I'm not normal." Riker told her, voice flat. Sally winced.

"You say that as if it's a bad thing, hun." She chastised him. "But you don't realize how important you are. I sent you to Yancy since I thought it was close enough to home, but far enough away from..." She cleared her throat, and Riker felt his eyes arrow. She wasn't telling him  _something_. "To keep you safe, honey."

"Safe from  _what_?!" Riker frowned. "That's what's it! You never tell me!"

Their eyes met. Suddenly, Riker felt all those memories come flooding back to him—all those freaky instances, all the really strange things that had happened to him; things he'd tried to really forget to help along the fantasy that he was just like all the other normal kids(but more awesome). To lie to himself, that he wasn't weird. He wasn't strange. He wasn't crazy...

Third grade. That man in the black trench coat that had stalked him on the playground. When the teachers came out to ask him to leave, threatened to call the police, Riker saw he only had one eye, right in the middle of his head. But his face was hidden in the shadows of his hood, and little Riker didn't want to tell anyone. Maybe he'd just imagined it after all.

And back in preschool. A teacher had set him down for a nap in a cot that held a sleeping snake, with interesting marks decorating it's scaly back. His mother had screamed when she came to pick him up and had found him playing with the limp, stringy rope that he'd strangled to death with his stubby little toddler hands.

In every single school, something creepy like that had happened. That was the real reason Riker always asked to go to a different one every year, or got himself expelled(even though not all of those times were on purpose). But every year, no matter what school he went to. Riker never told his mom. He knew she'd freak.

He knew he should tell Sally about the old ladies at the Fruit Stand of Destiny, and about the Alebra teacher-turned-hag that was Mrs. Dodds. About his weird, maybe hallucination that he'd killed her, Mrs. Dodds, a teacher who no longer existed in memories not records(he's broken into the records room at Yancy. She wasn't listed anywhere). But he couldn't make himself. He had a feeling it would end their trip at Montuak, and Riker never wanted that.

"I tried to keep you as safe as I could." Sally confessed, and Riker's attention was back on her, though he didn't glance up. "They told me it was a mistake. But there's only one other option. Riker—the place where your father wanted to send you. But I—I just couldn't."

Riker frowned. "Father... wanted to send me to a special school?' He clenched a fist.

"Not a school," Sally told him softly. "A summer camp."

Riker blinked. The hell? Why would his dear dad want to send him to a summer camp, before he'd even been born? He mentally shook himself. No way, no fucking way. He wasn't going, even if it had been his father's idea. The man hadn't even stayed for two months after his birth before going on that sea voyage and never coming back.

But still. A summer camp. And why hadn't Sally ever told him before now, if it was that important?

And why did Sally sound scared?

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." His mother looked up at him from behind her lashes. "I don't like talking about it—or, even thinking about it! If I send you there.. I just can't stand to... It might mean saying good-bye to you forever."

Riker's head shot up. "Forever? Mom, it's just a  _summer camp_! As in, a once a year thing! Like, during the summer? Then I come home?"

But his mom turned back to the fire, and Riker knew form her expression that if he said any more she would start to cry.

That night. Riker had a real fucked up dream.

It was on the beach, Montuak, where they were now. A horse and an eagle were fighting to the death, it seemed, Thunder rages and lightning flashed. Riker felt like he was suppose to do something, maybe stop the two from their brawl, or something bad would happen. But he scowled when he found he couldn't move to even cross his arms stubbornly. As if. They were fighting, it wasn't his problem. Why should he stop it?

Besides, he wasn't sure what idiot eagle would choose to take on a  _horse_. It was painfully obvious the stallion would win.

Somehow, Riker felt that that thought was bias. He didn't even know.

Then, from beneath the sandy dunes, a monsterous voice chuckled. The two warring animals didn't even pause. As if they hadn't heard it. Riker blinked, and glanced at the ground. His vision grew dark then, and he glanced up to see one last scene. The eagle diving down to nail the horse right in the eyes.

He woke up, and was surprised to find himself in a cold sweat. The hell? "Fucking dream wasn't even scary." he muttered. "Still, awesome eagle, getting the damn horse in the eye. That evil laughter was way cooler sounding, though." He rolled himself over and scowled at a pattern on the quilt that covered him, one that was large enough to see in the dark. Everything was black and white, like some old movie. But the ocean sounded just outside the window, and Riker felt himself being lulled right back to sleep.

Then he felt himself waking up again, not even reaching unconscious when he was jerked from his daze by loud bangs on the cabin door. He sat up so fast he almost got whiplash. Outside, it really was storming. Long Island never got hurricanes like this in the summer, but the ocean seemed to have forgotten that. Over the howling wind, he heard another sound. An angry, almost tortured sounding bellow that made his hairs stand on end.

And another noise. Like mallets hitting the sand. Someone—the one banging on the door, perhaps, was outside, screaming. Riker blinked, then his eyes widened. Well, hey now. Someone was banging on the door!

He jumped out of bed, still in his sweatpants, bare-chested despite the cold, and raced across the cabin to the door. His hand grasped the handle and jerked the flat sheet of wood open, to see—

"Grover?!" Riker's eye twitched as he stared into his... friends... face, voice hollering over the wind. "Dude, I get that you think I'm your friend and all, but this stalker-stuff—you just took it to a whole new level of creepy!"

"Riker!" Sally shouted from behind him. Riker stood to the side so him mother could come to the door. She stared at Grover for a minute, before pinning her son with a stare. "What happened, at school? What didn't you tell me?"

"Searching all night!" Grover cried over the screaming winds. He was panting as if he'd just finished a long marathon. "What were you thinking?! And you didn't even tell her?!"

His mom turned to look at him in horror. "Riker, what happened at school? Tell me!"

But Riker was frozen, now, looking over at Grover. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.

" _O Zeu kai alloi theoi_ , P—Riker! It's right behind me! Why didn't you  _tell_  her?!"

Riker ignored them—and the fact that his stalker had just cursed in ancient Greek. And the fact that he'd understood him perfectly. He was still too shocked to even wonder how Grover had gotten their in the middle of the night, much less knew where they were staying(it must've been some secret stalker technique that they only shared with their stalker club).

Because Grover didn't have his pants on.

And where his legs should be...

"Riker!" His mother grabbed him by the shoulder. He'd never seen or heard her this panicked or frightened before. "Tell me  _now_!"

He blinked once, before yelling out something about three old ladies that sold really tasty fruit, and then a vague sentence about a crazed math teacher that turned into a shriveled up hag and liked to pick on poor innocent teenagers. Sally's face turned deathly pale, and she scrambled back inside the cabin.

She grabbed her purse, tossed Riker his still un-opened suitcase, and dashed out the door. "get to the car. Both of you—go!"

Grover ran for the Camaro—but he wasn't exactly running. It was this weird trot that was slightly wobbling but still fast as heck, and Riker wondered why he'd never thought of it before aside from the fact that it sounded too crazy for even him to consider, as he ran beside the boy.

And suddenly that cover story—because it could only be a  _cover story_ , he realized—about Grover's leg muscle disorder made so much sense to him. How the guy could run so fast but still 'limp' when he walked.

Because where Grover's feet should have been... Well, there weren't any feet. There were  _hooves_.

"God, you bastard!" Riker shouted over the wind. "You're an  _actual_  ass!"

Well, half of one. But that wasn't really important right now.


	4. Bull-fighting Instructor Sally Jackson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull-man's still chasing them, and Riker literally almost got glass shard's up his ass.   
> Time for Bull-man to die. Painfully.

_My life wasn't what you would call normal. But still, strange happening s aside, my summers weren't usually like this._

_Sometimes me and my mother would go down to Montuak for a week or so. Usually it was a few days here, then another few days later on in the months, over that three month period of no school. My mother was always happiest there, and in turn I was more relaxed._

_I'd spend many afternoons down at the gym, with my gymnastic buddies. They always went on about how I must have been a bird or something in one of my past lives—my flips and tumbles were incredible. Plus, I was so flexible it astounded even the manager of the place._

_One or twice I remember my mother taking me to a mountain to try skiing or snowboarding, back when we had more money. That was fun, and I'm pretty sure it was then that my slight addiction to hot chocolate began._

_But taking part in a high speed chase? My mother sitting in the driver's seat of Gabe's Camaro, hitting the gas like nobody's business and taking dangerous turns like in one of those fast-action movies? My stalker, Grover, sitting next to me in the back, no pants, with hooves? And being chases by some sort of **monster**..._

_No, this wasn't a normal summer for me._

_But it sure as hell was entertaining._

**Chapter Four**

Wind slammed against the Camaro, rain lashing the windshield. The car tore through the night along the dark country roads. Riker wasn't sure how his mother could see anything, but she kept her foot on the pedal.

Every time there was a flash of lightning, Riker would alternate in casting a glance at Grover, who sat next to him, and twisting around in his seat in an attempt to see whatever it was that was chasing them. He was still wondering if he'd truly gone insane or not. If Grover was just wearing some weird shag carpet pants and metal shoes from the sixties.

But the smell was one he remembered from that lame-ass kindergarten field trip to the petting zoo—lanolin, like from wool. The smell of a damp barnyard animal. Riker so badly wanted to poke some fun at the trembling boy next to him, but he decided that now was not the time. Grover probably wouldn't hear him over the storm anyway.

Not that it stopped him from trying to start a conversation. "Dude, how do you know my mom?"

Grover's eyes flitted toward the review mirror, trying to make out the thing behind them. "We've never exactly met in person." He admitted, hollering over the wind. "But she knew I was watching you."

"You mean my mom knew I had a creepy stalker and never did anything about it?!" Riker asked him incredulously, turning around in his seat to stare at the other teen. "Why were you—ah,  _watching_  me, anyway?"

"I was keeping tabs on you, making sure you were okay." Grover hesitated, looking at the shirtless teen—Riker hadn't had the thought o put his jacket on yet—out of the corner of his eye before plowing on. "But I wasn't faking being your friend. I  _am_  your friend."

For some reason, Riker suddenly felt slightly guilty about all the times he'd brushed Grover of when the other told him they were  _friends, right?_ But his mind slapped his guilt in the face and told it to shut up. Now wasn't the time anyway. "So, what exactly  _are_  you?"

Grover shook his head. "That doesn't matter right now!"

"It doesn't matter?! From the waist down, my stalker is a  _donkey_ —"

Suddenly, Grover let out a laugh... or, a " _Bla-ha-ha!_ " to be precise. Riker stopped talking to stare at him strangely. He'd heard the guy make the sound before, but he'd always just thought it was only an nervous laugh. Now, he realized it was more of a irritated bleat.

"Goat!"

" _Excuse_  me?" He had the decency to feel offended.

"I'm a  _goat_ from the waist down!"

Riker blinked before raising an eyebrow. "I  _thought_  you just said it didn't matter, huh?"

Grover bleated again. "There are satyrs who would trample you under hoof for such an insult!"

Riker brain blanked out. "Ya mean—satyrs, like from Greek Mythology?"

"Where those old ladies at the fruit stand a  _myth_?" Grover asked. "Was—"

"Ah." Riker sat back in his seat, knuckles white from clinging to the seat as his mother took another swerving turn. "...  _Ohhhhh_. Makes sense now, in a crazy way. Fruit Stand of  _Destiny_. Three old ladies—the Fates. So those were like, the socks of Death?" He mumbled to himself as the puzzle all came together. Maybe he shouldn't have blown off their fortune-telling offer? Nah. He still thought Fate was bull— _no offense, grandmas_.

Grover hadn't heard him over the howling wind, however. "—Mrs. Dodds a  _myth_ , Riker?"

Riker sat up so fast he might've even gotten whiplash. "Ah! So you admit there was Mrs. Dodds!" he pointed an accusing finger at the nonchalant Grover's direction.

"Of course."

"So why didja—"

"The less you knew, the fewer monsters you attract. Your scent would magnify once you truly acknowledged what you were, Riker." Grover told him as if it should be perfectly obvious. "We put Mist over the mortals' eyes—we'd hoped you would think the Kindly One was just a hallucination. But it didn't work; you started to realize who you were."

Riker was starting to feel angry. Even though he didn't understand all of what Grover was saying, he got the gist of it. He remembered the conversation he'd heard between Mr. Brunner and Grover, and how no one in the entire school—not even the records—remembered the math teacher he'd offed. He twisted in his seat until his icy sea-green eyes were drilling right into Grover, who shifted uncomfortably. "You mean, it was all you? You and...  _Chiron_?" He recalled the name Grover had used for Mr. Brunner, and Grover started to pale slightly. Riker scowled. "So I was thinking I was crazy for nothin'? When it was _your_  doing?!"

The strange bellowing noise rose up again behind them—closer than before. The two teens twisted around in their seats to try and get a better view of the thing chasing them, but it was no good. Still, whatever was chasing them was definitely on their trail now.

"Riker," Sally called from the front seat, and Riker startled. He'd almost forgotten she was there; which was silly, since she was the one  _driving_  the car. "There's too much to explain and not enough time. We have to get you to safety first, okay?"

Riker leaned forward in his seat, hand moving to gripping the seat in front of him. "Safety from  _what_ , mom? Come on—now that I  _know_  somethings definitely up, why can't you just finally tell me?"

"Oh," Grover huffed, instead. Apparently he was still miffed by the donkey comment. "Nothing much. Just the Lord of the Dead and a few of his bloodthirsty minions."

" _What!?_ "

Before Riker could even think of replying, Sally's hold on the steering wheel tightened. "Grover!"

The satyr flinched. "Sorry, Mrs. Jackson." He apologized. "Um, could you drive faster, please?" He turned to look behind them. This time, Riker could just make out a large, hulking figure charging after the car when he glanced back. His heart almost skipped a beat.

Which was strange, the teen scowled, because Riker Jackson was afraid of  _nothing_.

Except for his  _Dementophobia_ , but he wasn't going to go into that.

He tried to wrap his mind around what was happening. He knew it wasn't a dream, despite his very active imagination—not even  _he_  could dream up something this weird. He sucked at thinking the details out. He would be a very bad book author, that was for sure.

Sally took a hard left, and the tires squealed like tortured pigs. The Camaro raced past darkened farm houses every few minutes, until they came upon a wooden hillside that stretched on for miles to the shore of Long Island. Soon, they were flying past signs that read " _PICK YOUR OWN STRAWBERRIES,_ "nestled along the dull white picket fence.

"Where are we going?" Riker finally asked, mind still thinking on his conversation with Grover. Why would the guy keep something like  _this_  form him?

"The summer camp I told you about," Sally's voice was tense, reigned in. Riker could tell she was trying her best not to be scared, for him. And suddenly any resentment toward what Grover and Mr. Brunn—Chiron had done vanished— _somewhat_. This wasn't their fault, it was his. Everything that happened had happened because he was what he was.

And what was he? Riker didn't even know that.

He felt so damn  _useless_.

"The place you didn't want to send me," Riker replied, trying to get his mother to see that he didn't want him to go either. What Riker wanted was to stay with his mom. Preferably without the blight on their lives that was Gabe.

"Please, dear," Sally pleaded. "This is hard enough. Try to understand, you're in danger."

"Cause the three Fates sold me fruit?" Riker asked, confused. "It shouldn't be bad or anything—I mean, having no customers would be bad for business.  _Someone_  has to buy the stuff." He shrugged "Plus, it was  _delicious_. Don't see why—"

"Riker," Grover interrupted him. "Do you know what it  _means_ , when the  _Fates_  appear before you?" His voice was panicked. "They only do that when you're about to... When someone's about to die."

Riker blinked. He turned his head around to stare straight at Grover. "You just said 'you.'" Grover's eyes widened and his face paled even further.

"No I didn't. I said 'someone.'"

Riker shook his head. "You said 'you.' As in,  _me_."

"I mean 'you,' like 'someone.' Not you,  _you_."

"Boys!" Sally shouted from the front. She jerked the wheel toward the right, and Riker looked up just in time to see that hulking, shadowing form again, still barreling after them.

He spoke up."What was that?"

"We're almost there," Sally said aloud, ignoring her son's question. "Just another mile. Please. Please. Please."

Riker guessed that the so-called 'camp' was somewhere around here, but even he found himself leaning forward in anticipation. Wanting to get to where ' _there_ ' was.

They'd reached the empty country side you got when you get to the tip of Long Island—outside, there was nothing but rain and darkness. Riker felt like he was in one of the horror movies he'd seen on Netflix. Like, at any moment, something would just pop out and total the car and then  _bam_ , they'd all be dead, half-goat Grover or not.

Then he thought about Mrs. Dodds the math teacher, and huffed in annoyance. So she hadn't been human after all—and she'd  _really meant_  to  _kill_  him.

Who would  _want_  to kill this awesomeness?

Then came along memories about Mr. Bru—Chiron, and then Riker remembered the pen. Or, the pen that could turn into a sword. His hand flew to the pocket of his sports pants. Ever since that day, he'd kept it on his person. It was just too fascinating to him to put it down. Maybe  _Chiron_  missed it, maybe not, but Riker didn't care right then. Maybe he could—

The hair rose on the back of his neck. There was a bright flash of light and a whirring sound before the Camaro  _exploded_.

Riker remembered a feeling of familiar weightlessness—he'd been in a car crash before, but somehow this was  _way_  different—and the heat. Like he was being crushed, roasted, and was drowning all at the same time.

He blinked his eyes open and pulled his head out of the whole in the windshield—maybe he should have buckled himself in, but it had slipped his mind in favor of recent events, labeled as 'unimportant.' The glass was shattered and small bits of the window were digging into his shoulder. Flecks of tiny razors speckled across his neck and face, and he wanted to growl. Removing glass from skin took forever! He moved the front half of his body back, with his elbows supporting himself, and groaned. " _Ow_."

"Riker!" Sally's voice called. She sounded terrified. The teen managed to settle his ringing head against something, waiting for the spots to leave his vision.

"I'm okay!" He shouted back.

He shook of the daze. He wasn't dead—it would take a lot more to do that, he huffed—and the car hadn't really exploded. They'd swerved into a ditch. The driver's-side doors were pressed into mud, and the car itself was flipped over. Where Riker had previously been sitting upright, he was now lying upside down with his back pressed against the carpeted roof of the Camaro, which was cracked in places like an eggshell, with rain somehow pouring in, pelting him in the face and chest, making his cuts sting. The wheels kept rotating as if they were still on the road, the axles snapped.

They'd been struck by lightning.

 _Awesome_. Riker told himself halfheartedly. Another thing he could add to his list of spectacular things he'd lived through.

He didn't know it yet, but surviving being struck by lightning was going to be lame compared to some other things he would accomplish.

Still, they'd been blasted right of the road. Riker glanced over to see a motionless lump next to him, hanging from the roof—or, the seats, now, of the car. Still strapped in by a seat belt, arms swinging limply down. Riker blinked, then frowned. "Oi!  _Grover_! Just 'cause you're weird and I think you're seriously annoying doesn't mean you can kick the bucket! Who's gonna stalk me now, dammit?!"

Grover let out a groan, that vaguely sounded like the word "food," and Riker knew he'd make it out alive.

So he ignored the pain and twisted himself around to face the front again. "Mom?!"

"I'm right here, sweetheart." Sally called back. Her voice faltered. "We have to..."

Riker moved himself up onto his elbows again, turning his head around to look back. Lightning flashed again, nowhere near them this time, and Riker was able to catch a glimpse of something lumbering toward them through the rain. It was a dark silhouette of a large man—like a football-player on steroids. It looked like he was holding a blanket over his head, and his top half was bulky and fuzzy. His upraised hands made it look like he had horns.

Riker blinked. Strange guy. "Who's—"

"Riker," his mother spoke, dead serious. " _Get out of the car_."

She threw herself at the driver's door, hands jerking the handle up and down, but it didn't budge. Riker took the hint and tried his. Stuck too. He looked ahead and saw the body-sized hole in the windshield. He himself was already peppered with wounds full of glass shards, so he didn't think he would mind too much, but his mother... and stalker... the glass around the windshield was wickedly sharp and protruding at odd angles—they wouldn't make it out without a deep gash or two.

"Climb out the passenger's side!" His mother shouted. "Riker, you have to get out of here! DO you see that big tree over there?"

" _What_? No! Mom, I'm  _not_ —"

Another flash of lightning, and Riker glanced up in time to see a huge pine tree that reached high into the sky, towering over the rest of the woods. It was at the crest of the nearest woods, and big enough to be the Christmas tree for Times Square.

"That's the property line," Sally continued, ignoring Riker outburst. "Get over it and don't stop running until you reach the door of the farmhouse, down in the valley. Yell for help, and don't you dare look back!"

Riker turned himself over and sat up. This was probably the first time he'd ever glared at her. "Mom, you're coming  _with_  me."

Her face was pale, and her eyes were gray again, sad as she looked out to the ocean.

Riker blinked, realizing what she must mean. "Um, yeah. no. You're coming. Help me carry creepy stalker over there." Sally only smiled a bit sadly as Riker reached out a hand to unbuckle the satyr. Grover landed on the roof of the car with a dull thud. He groaned again, most likely calling for some enchiladas this time.

The man with the blanket was getting closer, making those strange grunting and snorting noises. As he came into a clearer view, Riker realized he couldn't be holding a blanket over his head—because two meaty arms with Hulk-sized hands were swinging at his sides in a lazy manner. Which meant that the bulky, furry mass that was too big to be a head... was his head. And those really  _were_  horns.

"Riker, he doesn't want  _us_." His mother told him. "He wants  _you_. Besides, I can't cross the property line."

Riker spun around to give her a look. " _Mom_ , you—"

"There isn't any time, honey. Please, just  _go_!"

Riker stared at her for a second, silent. He was mad then, mad at himself, at Grover the stalking goat-boy, at the  _thing_  coming towards them, even a little at his mother. He turned slowly to climb across Grover and kicked open the passenger door. He turned and grabbed the unconscious satyr and flung him out of the overturned vehicle, not even batting an eyelash when he heard the somewhat sickening thump that sounded when the guy landed on the ground outside. He twisted back around and blinked. "Come on mom. We're going."

"Riker, I told you—"

"How do you expect me to lug around that guy, then?" he jerked a thumb back in the direction he'd tossed Grover. "I know I'm strong and all, but I'm just a twelve-year-old, and Grover's  _heavy_!"

He knew he was whining like a little kid, but it seemed like the only way to get his mom out of the car, so that was what he would do. He climbed out of the door above his head and landed on his feet, heels digging into gravel. He bounced up and down a few times, getting used to the feeling glass digging into his skin, and then made his way to where Grover was slumped over. He leaned down and took a hold of one of Grover's wrists, pulling the arm up and slinging it over his shoulder, wincing as the glass burrowed in a little deeper. He began walking toward the tallest tree, the tree that marked the property line of—of that camp. He probably wouldn't have made it very far if his mother hadn't finally come out to help him.

They each slung one of Grover's arms over their shoulders and began stumbling uphill through waist high, wet country grass toward the pine tree.

When Riker looked behind him, he finally got his first clear look at the monster that had chased them all the way across Long Island. He was an easy seven feet tall and his arms looked like they were photoshoped onto his body right out of a  _Muscle Man_  magazine. Bulging biceps and triceps, and all the other 'ceps, all packed like baseballs under vein-webbed skin. The only clothes he had on was a pair of bright white Fruit of the Looms that were now splotched with mud. It looked hilarious and what Riker really anted to do was laugh, but he decided to save his energy to do it later when his life—and his mother's. And Grover's—wasn't in danger. Coarse brown-red hair started down at his naval and got thicker along the way to his shoulders. His neck was a tree trunk of muscle and fur that held up his massive head, which and a snout as thick as Riker's torso, flaring nostrils with a brass ring, beady black eyes that reminded him of Gabe, and wickedly sharp horns protruding from his scalp.

Riker recognized the monster all right. It was the very first myth Mr. Br—Chiron had taught his class. But he'd never thought it could be real—which was why he'd always laughed when they went over the story. He wasn't laughing now. Aside from silently in his head at the Fruit of the Looms getup.

He shook his head from side to side to get the rain out of his head and tried jogging faster. "That's—That's, um, Pasiphae's son, right? The Min—"

"Don't say his name," Sally warned him. "Names—they have power, hun."

Riker's mouth clicked shut.

The pine tree was getting closer, but still too far away—like a hundred meters uphill, at least. Riker glanced back again to see the Minotaur—cause that's what it  _was_ , he realized—even closer than before.

They were only about fifty feet away, still, but the monster stopped at the overturned Camaro—the wheels were still turning on the broken axles—and began peering into the windows. Or not, really. He sniffed around the crash-site, grunting and huffing, head-butting the wrecked metal vehicle a few times for god measure.

Grover groaned again, for food— _What is_ _ **with**_ _him and food?_  Riker asked himself—and the teen reached out a hand to slap over the satyrs mouth. "Mom, what's he doing? Is he blind or something?"

"His sight  _is_  terrible," Sally admitted," along with his hearing. He goes by smell. But he'll catch our scent soon enough. We have to hurry."

It was like they were all in one big play, and that had been Bull-man's cue. He let out a bellow of rage and curled his bulky hands around the edge of the totaled Camaro. He lifted it up over his head and tossed it across the country road. It landed in a shower of sparks and groaning metal, skidding for around half a mile before coming to a screeching stop. Then, the gas tank exploded.

 _Not a scratch_ , Riker suddenly remembered Gabe saying.

Whoops.

"When he sees us," Sally started talking quickly, "he'll charge. Let him get close, then jump sideway, okay?"

Riker blinked, before nodding, seeing the reasoning. "His mass is to much for him to change directions that quickly. He'll keep going forward and until he slows down enough for him to turn back around, then he'll charge again. It's like in bull-fighting."

Sally paused long enough to give him a proud smile. It was like 'See? I knew you were smarter than you say in school.' Riker rolled his eyes, and they kept jogging toward the pine tree ahead. "How do you know all this, anyway?" He asked.

Sally's smile disappeared, and her shoulder's tensed. "I've been worried about an attack like this for a long time, hun. I should have expected this—I was selfish, keeping you close to me like that."

Riker gave the woman a look, eyebrows raised. "Mom, it isn't  _selfish_  of you to keep your own kid near you."

Sally shook her head. "But—"

With another throaty roar of anger, the Minotaur started tromping up hill, hands tearing at the damp country grass that had previously and still was hindering Riker and his mother.

He had their scent.

The pine tree was only a few yards ahead, but the hill was getting slicker and goat-boy wasn't getting any lighter—and the Minotaur was closing in. A few more second, and he would be on them. Riker ignored the pounding of his heart and plowed on.

Sally shouldered Grover and took a step away. "Riker, go on! Separate! Remember what I said!"

"Hell to the no!" But Riker had the feeling she was right, that it was their only chance. He paused for a second, thinking, and then spun around to face the Minotaur.

"Riker, no!" Sally shouted at him, eyes wide and terrified.

Riker sprinted away from her without a word and, sure enough, saw the bull-guy's black soulless eyes follow him. He halted his movement and waited. "Go on, woman! I'm  _not_  taking no for an answer!"

Riker's stomach twisted and he fell the unfamiliar desire to run away. But he knew that was stupid. He wasn't afraid of this ugly piece of meat—plus, he'd never be able to outrun the thing.

So he held his ground. The Minotaur charged. Riker waited, waited—then jumped to the side, sliding a few feet than he meant to on the wet grass—but that was fine with him, and the monster just raced right past him, thundering over the spot he'd been only moments before. Riker sucked in a breath. He glanced down to pinch one of the larger pieced on glass—one that was going a little too deep into his side—and yanked it out. He looked back up and tossed it to the side.

They'd gotten to the crest of the hill, and Riker saw the white farmhouse his mother had mentioned. But it was still an entire half-mile away. They would never make it.

 _No_. Riker told himself. No, they  _would_.

The Minotaur turned again with a loud roar—but it wasn't Riker he was looking at this time. No, it was Sally, who was just setting Grover down in the grass.

Riker's heart wanted to stop, but he commanded it to keep on going. He forced his legs to move toward his mother, running. No way is that stripper bull-man laying one, meaty finger on his mom.

But Sally was backing away now, slowly. Trying to lead the beast away from Grover. Riker felt selfish, then, as he wanted to yell for her to stop—that he considered her far more important than Grover could ever be, to him.

That made him feel lower than dirt, though, so he kept his mouth shut and ignored the guilty feeling, pushing himself to run faster.

"Riker, run!" Sally called. "I can't go any farther!"

Riker was running, but not in the direction that Sally probably wanted him to. He was only ten meters away from her when the Minotaur reached her—Sally tried to sidestep, as Riker had done, but it seemed the monster had learned it's lesson, as it shot out one hulking hand to grab her by the throat. He lifted her up into the air as she struggled, feet kicking at the air and hands slashing away his his arm.

"Mom!" Riker reached into his pocket and pulled out Chiron's pen, un-capping it and throwing the top aside—it wasn't important right now. The bronze sword materialized in his hand and he'd just reached the beast when it closed it's fingers around Sally's neck. His mother slowly began to glow in a golden light, her form fading a little as it began to resemble a holographic projection, he felt his eyes sting a little and he tried running even faster—but it was like wading through molasses. Then, with a blinding flash, she was simply  _vanished_.

Yeah... no. Riker did  _not_  like that  _at all_.

He was pissed. No, he was more than pissed—he was  _livid_. This  _thing_  just came along and made his  _mom_  disappear. It would have to face the very  _ **painful**_   _consequences_.

He stopped running and gripped the pen-turned-sword in his hand, knuckles turning white from the force of the hold. He gulped in a few much-needed breaths of hair and waved the weapon in the air just as the Minotaur turned toward Grover. For some reason, Riker felt that he would not allow the beast to get within five yards of his stalker. He was coming out of this having saved  _someone_ , dammit! The gleam of the sword's metal edges when lightning flashed caught the monster's eyes, and Riker patiently waited form it to come charging at him again. "Yo! Ass wipe! Come at me!"

The Minotaur turned toward him, eye gleaming with hatred—and Riker vaguely wondered, slightly offended, what he'd ever done to the thing to garner it's loathing—and it lowered it head to charge again, letting out a low, rumbling roar. He shook his meaty fists and took of at him. Riker's leg muscles tensed.

He had an idea.

It was a stupid idea, if he hadn't been into acrobats, but he was pretty confident that he could pull it off.

The beast flew up the hill toward him, hands outstretched to grab him whichever way he sidestepped this time—but Riker wasn't going to dodge again. At least, not in those directions.

He pressed his back to the pine tree, the bark rubbing roughly against his bare back and the glass shards digging even deeper into his skin—it was going to be hell, getting those out after all this was done—and as the Minotaur was upon him, he jumped straight upwards.

He kicked off of the creature's head and turned in midair to land in a crouch against the trunk of the tree, before using it as a springboard to leap up higher, executing a neat back flip and landing in another crouch on the Minotaurs head, his feet digging into crook between the monstrous neck and the beasts hairy shoulders.

Plan successful. Now, what he really wanted to execute was the monster beneath him—it was at his mercy. He lifted the sword in a reverse grip above his head and, in a flash of lightning, brought it down. The blade burrowed down to the hilt into the creature's neck, and Riker released his hold on the handle, hands jerking up to wrap tightly around one of the horns as the Minotaur began to flail around wildly, howling in pain and anger.

A second later, the monster slammed into the trunk of the pine tree with a force that nearly shattered Riker's clenched teeth—that would be a tragedy, his charming smiles were  _amazing_ —and the teen's grip tightened until all the blood in his knuckles had mysteriously vanished.

The bull-man shook himself and bucked like a rodeo bull, and Riker moved to wrap his legs around the hilt of the sword still protruding from it's neck—he wondered how the hell the thing was still around after that, but he wasn't letting go until the Minotaur was  _gone_ —and held onto the horn for dear life. The thunder and lightning were still going strong, and the rain was probably aiming at Riker's eyes just to be mean to him. He imagined the storm clouds were laughing at him. Dammit, they were deliberately trying to make his life difficult!

Meanwhile, Grover lay in the grass, groaning. Riker wanted to scream at him and tell him to shut up—he'd gotten the worst of the car crash when he'd flown through the fucking windshield, and here he was riding a bull from Greek mythology, suck it up!—but he was aware that if he opened his mouth, at this rate, he'd most likely bite his own tongue off.

The Minotaur heard goat-boy's moaning, it appeared, and the thing turned toward him. It's eyes flashed crazily, and it's foot pounded the ground as it readied up for another charge, Riker still perched on it's back. His mind flashed back to how the thing had taken his mother away from him, and in that instant, Riker only saw red.

He readjusted his hands on the horn and pulled back with all his might. He figured it was just like yanking out a tooth or something. Apparently so, since the Minotaur seemed to feel it. Like it was getting looser. It stopped preparing for a charge, it's body tensing. The thing gave a surprised grunt, before— _snap_!

And then, it seemed that the blade buried in it's neck finally caught up with them. When the monster turned around to fling him off, there was a sick ripping and tearing sound, like organs being pulled from an open chest—he'd seen a documentary of a heart transplant or something on Discovery Channel or something when his mom had told him to watch something more educational than dirt-bike races.  _Not_  doing that again—and the Minotaur let out a strangled-sounding roar as it began to dissolve. At first, the stuff was the color of graying, dead skin, but it took on the tint of glimmering gold just as the corpse caved in and fell to the ground. Riker fell down when his perch disintegrated beneath him. When he sat up, he was covered in decayed monster dust and clutching a horn longer then his arm and thicker than hick neck at the base. His head spun from where it smacked against a rock in his tumble to the ground.

The remains of the Minotaur crumbled like sand—just like how his math teacher, the Kindly One, had gone—and the areas that weren't clinging to his pants or hair were blown away in the howling wind.

The beast was gone. And so was the rain. Maybe the clouds were done using him for entertainment.

The wind was still screaming and there was a dull thundering, but it was all in the instance. Riker was sitting on the ground, trembling, covered in monster sparkles, and clutching the horn of the thing he'd just defeated. He shook from the raging emotions inside of him as his mind played the scene of his mother vanishing in a golden light over and over and over again. He was cold, exhausted, hungry—dammit, Grover—the sudden silence was driving him  _insane_  and he felt vaguely like Edward Cullen, covered in the gold leftovers of the Minotaur as he was.

Riker shook out his stiff limbs and forced through the paralysis of shock. He stood himself up and stumbled over to an still unconscious Grover, bending over long enough to toss one of the satyr's arms over his aching shoulders before straightening up. He had to give it a few attempt, since his hands kept missing and his vision was blurry from the rain that had attacked them—it was rain. He wasn't  _crying_ , obviously. He hauled his stalker up and began to stagger down the other side of the hill he'd went through so much to climb, making his way toward the large white farmhouse.

He distantly remembered seeing the large shadows of more buildings that hadn't been there before as he tumbled through the valley, but he stubbornly kept his eyes on the ground in front of him until his feet hit a wooden porch. He slowly looked up to see the white farmhouse towering over him. He stared at the door for a few long moments, before letting out a deep sigh and tossing Grover's still—but still breathing—form onto the wooden planks. He let his head fall back down to stare at the steel toes of his combat boots before lifting one foot and climbing up the short set of stairs. When he reached the door, he considered it for a moment, before knocking a clenched fist on it three times. That done, he immediately spun around and sat down lotus style on the dusty porch floor, taking in slow, steady breaths, trying to calm his heart down.

He vaguely heard the sound of the door of the farmhouse opening behind him, but he didn't look up from his study of the grains of wood in the planks of the porch. He rested his hands on his knees and clenched them into fists.

A hand reached out and rested on his shoulder as a familiar voice spoke. "Is it done, Mr. Jackson?"

Riker didn't say a word. He reached over and picked up the horn he'd carried all the way there, along with Grover, and tossed it over his shoulder without looking back. "Son of Pasiphae, defeated." He replied nonchalantly.

Apparently, there was someone else there, because he heard a light gasp from the door. "The Minotaur?" A young feminine voice asked questioningly.

Riker would have turned himself around to glare at her and snap 'No, it was Barny,' but he just didn't feel like it. He moved his hands behind him and uncrossed his legs so he could fall over to his side and wrap his arms around his head.

Still, after all that had happened, he felt a little pissed that the girl would doubt his claim, whoever she was. Seriously, the fucking horn was right  _there_ , she could have just used her eyes.

"Mmm, yeah." Riker sighed despairingly, before the blackness finally enveloped his vision.

Before he went under, though, he heard the girl walk over to stand beside the other person—Chiron, he knew. Because that voice had been Mr. Brunner's, Riker had heard it enough during Latin class to know. "He's the one. He must be.

"Silence, Annabeth," Chiron replied. "He is still conscious. Bring him inside."

He felt himself being lifted up, and he let his mind wander. It shouldn't matter if he was awake or not. After all, he wanted  _answers_.

Because they were the one thing that his mother had never really given him.


	5. Winners Are a Rare Species

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riker plays pinochle with Mr. D and Chiron.  
> And WINS.

_Usually, when girls looked at me, they saw a bad-boy type guy. I had never had any girl look at me and think 'idiot.'_

_Sometimes, when they came up to actually meet me, they'd say stuff like, "I saw what you did earlier to that jerk," or "So, I've been meaning to introduce myself," or "I don't think we've met before," or even "Hiya hot stuff, what's happening?"_

_I've never, in all my days, have had a girl tell me that I drool in my sleep._

_Then again, I don't think I took any true offense to the comment, as it implied that she had watched me sleep before._

_Now **that**  was something to think about._

**Chapter Five**

Riker had always had the strangest dreams ever, but these ones really just took the cake. Usually in his dreams, he was always on the hunt for something, on a mission, and the only thing he could focus on was completing it through any means, including taping a half cooked chicken leg to a broken clock. Yeah, don't ask. Even he didn't understand that one. He'd stood in the kitchen wearing his leather jacket, except it was a dark purple instead of black, and had a yellow insignia of a centaur wearing hair-curlers. He was watching his mother cook a Thanksgiving meal while he was reading aloud from the book Fifty Shades of Gray(that had been what clued him in on the fact that it was a dream, as he would never actually admit to his mother that he'd read the book she'd found under his bed. He'd very quickly pointed to Gabe on that one). Then, when his mother was halfway done with cooking the meal, she took everything out and set it on the table and poured ice into the gravy. After that, Riker went over to the living room to turn on the TV and sat down on the floor lotus style before it, seemingly very interested in the five o'clock news. Gabe sat in the recliner behind him, giving a loud, nicely formulated yet critical review of the story of Romeo and Juliet, while he listened to the audio of Shakespeare's collected works through a pair of headphones. Sally walked over, tapped Riker on the head, and then began doing the Lindy Hop as she made her way to the door, which was ringing like a telephone. She opened it and welcomed in a variety of barnyard animals. Riker then felt that he had to do something very important, and that it mattered very much to him. He'd watched his dream self get up and walk over to the table of food with a determined face, rip the half-cooked turkey in half, and duct tape it to the very large grandfather clock that read midnight, even though he could clearly see the sun overhead through the window. He turned around, then, and began to play gladiator with half of their barnyard animal guests, while the rest of them went over to the table and made a mess out of the meal.

Riker was seriously confused about that one when he'd woken up for the first time since the night he'd fought the Minotaur, but the only thing he had been able to focus on was the fact that they didn't  _have_  a broken grandfather clock in their apartment.

Afterwards, he'd woken up several more times, but always fell asleep again before anything registered in his mind. Then, he'd remembered lying in a soft bed with smooth sheets covering him, being spoon fed some sort of pudding that tasted like buttered popcorn. He'd be the first one to admit that that taste and texture paired together was fucking weird. There was a girl with curly blond hair hovering over him, holding a bowl of the stuff. When she noticed that his eyes were open, she leaned forward even more, and Riker raised an eyebrow.

"What will happen at the summer solstice?" She asked him.

Raiser blinker. "That? Well, most sweltering day of the years, so it's gonna be hot. I'd suggest wearing a swimsuit and going for a swim on the beach. Work on that tan of yours—which is very nice, by the way—"

" _No_ , that's not— " She narrowed her eyes at him, then glanced around as if she was worried there was someone listening in. "What's going  _on_? What was stolen? We've only got a few weeks!"

"I've stolen a lot of things," Riker admitted, voice dramatic, "many of which were young girls' hearts, but—"

There was a sound near the door, and the girl glared at him, quickly forcing his mouth full of the popcorn pudding. " _Nevermind_."

The next time he woke up, she was gone.

Instead, a husky blond dude stood in the corner. He looked, for all the world, like a surfer, and would have been pretty good-looking with those blue eyes he had. But it was the blue eyes, also, that put Riker off. As in, multiple eyes, not just two? All over his body, his cheeks, his forehead, he even saw some scattered on his bare forearms. The guy didn't say anything, just stood by his bed and kept watch over him.

Then, when Riker finally came around, there wasn't anything really strange about his surroundings. He was in a room with white walls. A fan lazily spun on the ceiling and the window was open to let in bright sunshine and a soft breeze. He heard the distant laughter, like at a sport game but not as intense. He heard kids shouting at each other, but the voices were too far off to understand the words. The sound of birds chirping was only disrupted by the tell-tale noise of someone hitting a ball back and forth. The was a blanket over his legs and a pillow under his head. All that was great, but it felt like he'd swallowed a cigarette lighter. That had been lighted. His tongue was dry and every one of his teeth ached, like after that one dentist appointment that Riker would rather not be remembering right now.

There was a tall glass of what looked like liquid topaz sitting next to him, ice cubes gentle sloshing around. A green straw was stuck through the barricade of frozen water, and a small maraschino cherry was plopped right underneath them.

Riker reached over for it. His grip was so loose the cool glass almost slipped through his fingers.

"Careful." A familiar voice said.

Riker blinked, then brought the glass down to balance on his knee. He glanced up to see someone he hadn't noticed was in the room. "Goat-boy?"

Grover's eyebrow twitched. "My name's Grover, Percy."

Riker blinked again, before giving the teen a grin. "Mhm. And  _my_  name is Riker. You call me that, I'll call you Grover, dear stalker."

Still, Riker looked closer. Grover was leaning against the wall, looking like he hadn't slept in a week. There were dark bags under his eyes and his clothes were wrinkled in places The orange shirt that read "Camp half-Blood," with a pegasus insignia on the front was half-tucked into faded blue jeans, and his red converse sneakers were barely even tied. He had a long, twisted object wrapped in white cloth tucked under one arm. "Not that I care, dude, but are you okay? You look like shit."

Grover let out that bleating laugh, and Riker suddenly remembered what had happened that night.

But still, before him stood Grover. Not goat-boy-Grover, just plain old creepy-stalker-Grover.

So maybe what had happened during that midnight storm was only one of his weird, messed up dreams. His mother was fine. They were still on vacation, and they'd just stopped by this big white farmhouse because Grover lived here during the summer. Riker remembered that card the guy had given him after the last day of school. It had read Long Island. So maybe...

"You saved my life," Grover said, instead. "I... well—the least I could do... I went back down to the car to get your suitcase and stuff, and I also went out to the front and looked around until I found... it. I thought you might want..." He trailed off and paused, before the teen the wrapped tree branch-like object. Riker stared at it for a moment, before slowly peeling back the cloth.

It was a black and white bull's horn, but larger than life and twisted in a menacing way. The bottom was jagged, like it had been snapped right off the skull...

It hadn't been a nightmare.

Riker let out a forced breath and fall back in the bed, one hand gripping the severed horn and the other holding up his drink so it wouldn't spill. He wasn't even sure what it was, but it looked good.

"The Minotaur," though. That was what was going through his head.

"Um, Riker, it isn't a good idea to—"

"That's what they called him in the  _myths_ ," Riker told him, remembering what his mother had said about saying the names. They held power, somehow. Would saying it's name bring it to you? He shook his head. "Pasiphae's kid. Half man, half bull. I don't even want to know  _what_  creep that girl got down with to have a son like  _him_."

Grover shifted on his feet—or, hooves, now—uneasily. "You've been unconscious for an entire day—it's really early in the morning now. We'd thought you would have been out longer, but it looks like you have high endurance."

"Unlike  _you_ ," Riker spoke up flippantly as he sat up again. "Who was out cold after hitting your head on the headrest of the passengers seat."

Grover stared down at his sneakers, "I-I'm sor—"

"I mean, I went flying through the  _windshield_ , dude! And then I got right up and ran for an entire half-a-mile before riding a bull like a rodeo  _cowboy_!" Riker sucked in a breath, before looking down into his lap. He brought to straw to his lips and took a sip of the topaz-colored drink.

There was a beat of silence, before Grover spoke up again, in a low voice. "I'm really sorry, Riker. Really. It's all my fault—"

"Nah," Riker told him, voice resigned. "No, it was  _mine_."

Grover looked up. "H-How much do you remember?"

Riker glanced over at the other teen. Grover was fidgeting with the cloth wrappings that had held the Minotaur's horn. "My mom. Grover, she's really...?"

Grover sucked in a deep breath, before hunching his shoulders and looking down at his feet again. That was all Riker needed. He looked back toward the window and suddenly felt the urge to curse the sunny day. His mom was gone, it should be black and cold.

Just like the rain clouds that night. The weather really was out for his head.

"I'm-I'm sorry." Grover sniffed, looking up with teary eyes. "I'm such a failure—I'm the worst satyr ever—"

He kicked the wall so hard his foot came off—well, the sneaker did, Grover looked down and mumbled a curse in Greek before reaching down to toss it across the room. He pulled off the other shoe and did that same with that. Riker was silent throughout this.

He was thinking. His mother was gone. Squeezed into nothingness and vanishing in a yellow light. He felt miserable, even more than that time he'd gotten nicked by a blade in a gang fight he'd accidentally been caught up in and had to hide the wound form his mother for a week until it healed somewhat. He was alone, his mother was gone.

He'd have to go home, though. Sometimes. He'd have to live with... that bastard? If so, Riker was almost certain that Gabe would be found mysteriously dead within the first week, a month if Riker was a patient as his mother taught him. With luck, they'd never even have to search for the body, as the son would only report him missing.

Yes, a sound plan indeed.

Still, maybe it would never happen. He'd live in the alleys first, maybe group up with his nighttime buddied for good. He had enough street smarts to survive, and plenty of stashed-away arsenal to keep them all alive fr a good amount of time.

"It still wasn't your fault." Riker heard himself saying. The hell, was he being  _nice_? Nu uh. It wasn't possible. He had some hidden motive he didn't know of, yet. He'd find out soon, though...

And his  _Dementophobia_  was acting up again, thanks to his analysis of his own words.  _Shut up, brain_.

He took another sip of the drink even as Grover went on to gripe and moan about how it was his fault, it had been his job to protect Riker, he was such a failure—which Riker found himself ignoring in favor of the taste of the topaz-tinted liquid. He'd expected it to be icy cold and taste like some sort of fruit punch mixed with badly-hidden medicine, but it wasn't. It was warm in the most pleasant of ways, and tasted like the chocolate chip cookies his mother would always make him.

He suddenly felt like his mother had just given him a hug. And had told him that everything would be okay—and then it was gone again. But he didn't let that deter him. He felt energized for the first time in days.

Without even noticing, Riker drained th glass dry. He stared down at the ice cubes as he popped the cherry into his mouth and wondered about that. He'd been sure it was a warm drink, but the ice cubes looked like they hadn't even melted, lying at the bottom of his glass. Riker tossed the straw aside and began crunching the ice like he always did when he had pop at a fast-food place. He knew it wasn't good for his teeth, but it was a better addiction than cigarettes, which one of his street-pals had once offered.

"Was it good?" Grover asked, looking at the slowly vanishing cubes of ice. He could hear the crunching sound that came from Riker's mouth from all the way by the window.

Riker just nodded.

"What did it taste like?" Grover asked, with a glint in his eyes. Like he knew something Riker didn't and wasn't even thinking of telling him. Riker just nodded again, before swallowing the now crushed ice. "Cookies. Homemade. Mom-style."

Grover sighed. "And how are you feeling now?"

Riker cracked his stiff knuckles. "Like I could chuck you even farther than I did when I tossed your out of the Camaro."

The satyr looked up, startled. "You did what now?" He asked.

Riker just laughed brightly at him, fingers running over the side of the horn in his lap. But his eyes were a dull gray, like his mother's after she'd just finished crying.

"Come on," Grover said instead, turning around and making his way to the door. "Chiron and Mr. D are waiting."

The satyr dragged Riker's suit case into the room and Riker chose to go for something more simple than his regular outfit. He forewent a top and tugged on his mesh-shirt, slipping into black cargo-pants and his combat boots. He took out some shades, placed them over his eyes, then pulled on his leather jacket and followed Grover out of the room and down a set of stairs.

The porch actually wrapped all the way around the house, and as Riker let Grover lead him round to the back, he took a look around.

They must have been at the north shore of Long Island, because on this side of the house, the valley marched all the way up to the water, which glittered about a mile into the distance. The landscape was dotted with buildings that were modeled after ancient Greek architecture; an open-air pavilion, and amphitheater, a circular arena. They all looked bran-new, if only a little-lived in, with their white columns gleaming in the morning sun. down a ways away from the house, a group of high school-age teens were playing a game of volleyball. Canoes glided smoothly across the surface of a sparkling lake and there were kids in orange t-shirts everywhere, doing a variety of activities situated around a cluster of twelve cabins in the middle of the valley. There was an archery course and Riker vaguely spotted a group of people riding winged horses down a wooded path.

They'd reached the other side of the house now, where two men sat at a card table playing against each other. There was the blond-haired girl from before—the one who'd fed him that popcorn pudding—Annabeth, leaning against the railing and watching the game.

The man facing Riker was somewhat short and a bit pudgy. He had curly black hair, big watery eyes and a small red nose. He reminded the teen of a cherubs that had grown middle-aged in a trailer park, living off hamburgers and soda pop. He was wearing a tiger-print Hawaiian shirt and dark blue shorts. He would fit snuggly into one of Gabe's poker parties—except, Riker felt that the guy could out-gamble even his bastard step-father(who wasn't even a good player anyway).

"That's Mr. D," Grover murmured to him. "He's the camp director, so be polite, okay? The girl next to him is—"

"Annabeth," Riker yawned. "Yeah I know. I've met her before, vaguely."

Grover looked back at him with a strange look on his face, but shrugged and kept walking forward. "And I guess you already know Chiron, too." He pointed at the man who had his back to them, the one sitting in the wheel-chair. Riker already knew who it was the moment he laid eyes on him. His Latin teacher.

"Yo, teach!" Riker called out then, stepping ahead of Grover who had decided to be a wimp and falter when the director's eyes zeroed in on them. The man in the wheelchair turned around and graced them with a smile. His eyes held that gleam he got when he pulled a trick on the class and had made all the multiple choice answers C.

"Hello, Riker!" Chiron greeted him. "Ah, now we have enough for a game of pinochle."

He offered Riker a chair in front of Mr. D, who just looked at the teen with blood-shot eyes and heaved a great sigh. "Oh, I suppose I must say it. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. There, now don't expect me to be glad to see you."

Riker was used to porky guys who had attitude, so he only spun his chair around until it faced him and sat in it backwards with the back against his stomach, arms resting on the edge. A typical cool-guy pose. He flashed the man a grin. "Oh, there's tons of people who aren't glad to see Riker Jackson. Although, I don't recall doing anything to garner that reaction form  _you_."

Still, Riker knew this guy's type. If the director was a stranger to alcohol, then Riker was goody-two-shoes nerd who loved the color pink and whose favorite food was broccoli.

Chiron looked over at Annabeth and raised an eyebrow. "Well, my girl?"

The girl stepped forward and stared neutrally at Riker, who flashed her a grin. "'Allo, Annie-girl.  _So_  nice to see you again."

Chiron and the girl graced him with a surprised look, but then Annabeth glared at him. "How do you know my name? I've never even introduced myself."

Riker leaned back and spread his arms wide. "What can I say? I'm observant. I caught your name before I passed out on the porch the night before last, and I already know Chiron form when I eavesdropped on him and goat-boy over there back in school, before exams."

Chiron's eyes flew open, and he shot a look toward Grover, who twisted his cap in his hands. "I'm sorry, sir! I didn't know until he told me on the Greyhound home."

Annabeth stared coldly at Riker, who just crossed his arms over his chest and leaned forward again. "Doesn't matter now, anyway. What I wanna know is why Annie-girl over there was spoon-feeding me popcorn pudding."

Suddenly Annabeth's glare was gone and she glowered over across the lake with a red tint in her cheeks. She looked like your typical Californian girl with long, curly blond hair and a nice tan, but her eyes just ruined the image. They were a contrasting gray, with some silver flecks near the pupils. She wore the same orange shirt that Grover and the rest of the campers wore, and faded jean shorts with dark blue flip-flops—Riker hated flip-flops. They were so damn annoying.

Then she glanced back and her gaze settled on the Minotaur horn that Riker hadn't really noticed he'd brought along, which was set on the empty chair next to him. He tilted his head and waited for her to spit out whatever answer she'd came up with.

"You drool in your sleep," she said, and Riker just stared at her.

Then, he broke out laughing, hard. He wrapped his arms around his stomach and cracked up, eyes light blue and sparkling like his mom's had whenever she had watched a good comedy with him. Annabeth narrowed her eyes and looked away again, blushing once more, like she realized how lame the comeback had been.

"Oh!" Riker cackled. "I  _like_  you! Ha ha  _ha..._ " He leaned back and braced his arms behind his head, blinking over at Chiron. "So, what's happening old man?"

"Annabeth nursed you back to health, Mr. Jackson," Chiron told him sternly. "You should at least show her some thanks, yes?"

Riker glanced over at a still-scowling Annabeth, and blinked. "Yeah, thanks."

She just glared at him.

Chiron let out a sigh. "My dear girl, why don't you go check on Riker's bunk? We'll be putting him in Cabin Eleven for now."

She let out a huff, before turning away from the group. "Sure, Chiron."

And then she was sprinting off down the lawn, blond curls flying behind her. Riker felt like he was in some cheesy teen-girl movie.

He glanced back over at Chiron. "So I had the famous Chiron as my Latin teacher, huh?"

Chiron smiled back over at him, eyes crinkling. "Ah, yes. It was a house-visit. I'm afraid. I don't do many of those nowadays. Mr. Brunner was, of course, a pseudonym."

"Gotcha," Riker flashed him a quick grin, before looking over at the director. "And Mr. D—that's definitely stands for something; but," he raised his hands in a surrendering motion. "Names, power—all that. I get it. You're probably some big shot 'myth' or something."

Then he eyed Mr. D, who was blinking at him with some veiled surprise. "Although, I wouldn't be surprised if you turned out to be just a regular trailer-park guy. Then, it would be my mistake."

"That is true," the director said, most likely decided to ignore that last part for now, even though Riker could tell he was irritated. "Names are powerful things, and you shouldn't go around using them for no reason."

"I must say that I am quite glad to see you alive, Riker," Chiron spoke up, shuffling the deck of cards.

"Well, gee. Thanks."

"It has been a long time since I've made a house call to a potential camper," he explained, eyes twinkling, "I'd hate to think I had waisted my time."

"Yeah," Riker mumbled, thinking. He'd meant to ask about that. "House, call—you mentioned that before. What didja mean?"

"My year at Yancy Academy." the man said, as if it should be obvious, even though Riker had never  _lived_  at school—he shuddered at the memories of boarding houses. Never again. "To instruct you. We have satyrs at most schools, of course, keeping watch. But Grover alerted me as soon as he met you. He claimed you were something special, so I decided to come upstate and check on you myself. I convinced the other Latin teacher to.. ah, take a leave of absence."

Riker shot up in his seat, eyebrows high and a grin threatening to split his face. "Wait, you  _offed_  him?" Maybe this guy was cooler than he thought!

Chiron gave him a stern stare. "Of course not, boy. He was an innocent mortal, why would I do that?"

Riker shrugged, excitement diminished, and leaned back once more. "So you came to Yancy just to teach little old me?"

Chiron sighed, then nodded. "I wasn't sure about you at first, but we contacted your mother. I made sure she knew we were watching you to see if you were ready to come to camp or not. You still had so much to learn, but it seems you made it here alive, and that's always the first test."

"It's summer," Riker groaned. "Those are supposed to be boycotted until orientation or entrance exams!" But he felt vaguely angry. His mother had been taken from him in a stupid  _test_ , real life emergency or no.

"Grover," Mr. D snapped. "Are you playing or not?"

"Yes sir!" Grover let out a yelp form where he'd been standing silently behind Riker the entire time. He quickly slipped into the empty seat and moved the Minotaur horn to the porch floor. Riker wanted to poke fun at him about how he was afraid of a pudgy short man in an animal-print shirt, but Mr. D was addressing him now.

"You  _do_  know how to play pinochle, right?"

"Of course I do," Riker snorted. "Who do you take me for, a moron?" He'd had a buddy back at the gymnasts club he was in one summer who had a strange obsession with the game. He'd taught Riker up to the point were the teen was undefeated—but that had been back when he was nine, and his skills were a little rusty.

"Good, good," the director eyed him within a new light. "It is, along with gladiator fighting and Pac-Man, one of the greatest games ever invented by humans. I would expect a civilized young man to know the rules."

"Well," Riker started thoughtfully, "I ain't no  _civilized_  young man, but I guess I could give you a good game." He leveled a challenging stare at Mr. D, who returned it in full force. Riker had forgotten how competitive he got when pinochle was involved.

"We shall see." Was all the guy said in reply.

Challenge insinuated, Riker then turned to Chiron. "Why would you come to Yancy just for me?"

"I asked the same question," Mr. D snorted, dealing out the cards. Grover flinched every time one landed in his pile.

"Am I somehow different than these other campers?" Riker gestured out towards the valley, indicating the busy teens and children. It would be just his luck to, to end up being the weird one in a camp like  _this_.

"Did your mother tell you anything?" Chiron asked sympathetically, and Riker frowned. There goes the pity again.

"Yeah," he said gruffly. "Told me she didn't want to send me here. That once I was here, I couldn't leave. That she wanted to keep me with her. Right before she was squeezed into golden light and nothingness by that jackass freak of a monster."

"Hm," Mr. D hummed. "That's how they usually get killed. Young man, are you bidding or not?"

"Yeah, yeah." Riker rolled his eyed. "Don't get your knickers in a bunch, I'm getting there."

"I'm afraid there's too much to tel." Chiron sighed. "And in this situation, I don't believe our usual orientation film would suffice."

"Or you can just let me guess," Riker slapped a card down on the table and drew from the open deck. Mr. D sent him a scathing look and threw his hand down. Riker collected them with a snicker as the man drew another hand. "Here's what I've gathered. Greek myths; real—or most of them at least. I fought the son of Pasiphae the night before last, your pen can turn into a sword, those cabins down there, for the campers," he pointed across the lawn, "most likely symbolize the twelve in the Olympian council and, judging by how those guys down there haven't missed a single hoop on the basketball court since I came down here, the campers are blessed by whatever god or goddesses cabin they are in, or something similar." He looked up from his hand and slid on bad card forward, hoping one of them would take the bait. "Well?"

Chiron and Grover just stared at him, and Mr. D slowly slid out a hand to snatch up the card from Riker. He glanced down at it, and cursed. Riker grinned.

"That..." Chiron cleared his throat. "Was correct, Mr. Jackson. Mostly. The campers are not blessed by the god or goddess their cabin represents—well, not most of them. They are actually the children of those Olympians."

Riker ran through his deductions again, then nodded. "Right. So I guess—since I'm one of these campers now—that they're demigods or the such. One mortal parent and one godly."

"Smart boy." Mr. D eyed him suspiciously as he tallied up the points for a royal marriage. "Perhaps Athena, then."

"The looks don't match," Chiron told him and he made a move to counter Mr. D's. Riker, though, had them both right where we wanted them."

"I'm surprised by you, Riker." The ex-Latin teacher continued, as Riker made his own move. A feint, if you would. "You did not show such intelligence when you were in my class."

"I procrastinate in school." Riker yawned and waited for the director to make a move. His eyes were flitting between two cards, indecisive. "Part of it is being too lazy, the other part is that I don't wanna seem like a nerd. My image is a big part of my life, I don't wanna go around ruining it."

"Ah," Chiron nodded. "I see. Well, I do hope you will not feel the need to hide your knowledge here at camp, my boy. We are all family here."

"Yeah," Riker huffed, sarcastically. "Big, happy. I can literally feel the love."

"Mr D," Grover began nervously, fidgeting. "um, if you're not going to eat it, can I have your Diet Coke can?"

"Hm? Oh, alright."

The satyr took a great bite out of the aluminum can and chewed it mournfully. Riker made a face. He'd eaten plenty of things before, including rocks, wall plater and Styrofoam, most of which were on dares. He'd never tried metal—aside form a penny someone had once forced down his throat—but he didn't think they would be easy to chew. Grover must have had more goat in him that Riker realized.

The way Grover was minding his cards, though, dutifully chewing on his can and keeping his mouth shut. It made Riker think. Why was the goat-boy being so respectful to the director. He quickly ran though all the myths that he knew well enough. What god or goddess did the satyrs or nymphs refer to, other than Zeus? And, taking into account the tiger-print shirt, and the fact that he'd filled a conjured goblet with what had looked like grape juice before vanishing it miserably and bringing up a Diet Coke instead...

"I get it now." Riker spoke up, handing in another card that made Chiron wince and set down his own hand in defeat. "You're the God of Wine. Mr. D. D for..." He grinned at Chiron's raised eyebrows, and was inwardly surprised at the quick smirk the director sent toward him.

"That is also correct. My, if you aren't a spawn of Athena, I would be honestly startled. But alas, your image ruins that idea." He slapped a card on the table and shot him a superior look. Riker glanced down and smirked, drawing a card form the deck instead and laying down a certain assortment of three. The man scowled.

"I could look like my dad." Riker suggested—even though he knew that was false. He looked like his mom, with a face structure of his dad.

"Ah, but you're mother is Sally Jackson," Chiron reminded him, and Riker twisted his torso around, cracking his spine. He shot the ancient centaur a dark look. "Let's speak about, hm, some other topic. Get me?"

Chiron and Mr. D backed down and the continued the game. Grover had been eliminated long before.

"A lucky thing you are so observant," Mr. D mumbled, however. "Bad enough, working in this miserably place, much less with boys who don't even believe."

Riker raised an eyebrow. "That's right. You're the director. You have to deal with all these brats?" He thought back to Annie-girl and her snooty attitude.

Dionysus—cuz that was who the director was—waved a hand. Another goblet, like form before, appeared and filled itself with red wine. Chiron gave the god a stern look. "Mr. D, your restrictions!"

Riker suppressed a smile as the director looked down at the goblet with feigned surprise. "Dear me." He looked up at the sky and hollered. "Sorry! Old habits!"

Thunder rumbled across the clear skied. Riker ignored the out-of-whack and illogic weather. He'd gotten used to it by now. Dionysus waved his hand again, and the goblet was replaced by another can of Diet Coke. He popped the top and let out a unhappy sigh before taking a long draw.

Chiron gave Riker a wink. "Mr. D offended his father a while back. Took a fancy to a wood-nymph who had been declared off-limits."

A wood-nymph." Riker raised an eyebrow. Didn't Dionysus have a wife up in Olympus or something. But then again, here were demigods who were most likely children of Apollo and Hermes and Ares. Then there was Aphrodite, he though, spying a group of rather attractive girls near the lakeside—and wasn't she married to Hephaestus. Riker wasn't fond of cheaters, but he didn't think he could really march up to the immortals and give them a lesson in loyalty or anything, so he let the matter drop for now.

"Yes," Mr. D confessed. "Father loves to punish me. The first time, prohibition. Ghastly! An absolutely horrid ten years. The second time—well, she really was pretty, and I just couldn't stay away—the second time, he sent me here. Half-Blood Hill. A summer camp for brats like," he eyed Riker for a second before going on," that Annie-girl who was here earlier—"

Chiron looked up from his cards and blinked, looking between Mr. D and Riker for a moment, before going back to his cards with a pondering look on his face.

Mr. D leaned over the table, scrutinizing the cards closely. "I believe I win."

"Not exactly, Mr. D," Chiron said as he lay down his own hand and tallied the points while Riker watched them both with a mischievous grin. "I believe the game goes to me."

" _Actually_ , boys," Riker drawled lazily as they both turned to him with a raised eyebrow. He smirked and set down a full house, having already mentally added up the points. "I'm quite certain that I am the victor in this match."

They both stared down at the hand he held out to show them, neither bothering to keep the stunned looks off their faces, and Grover had even stopped mid-chew, the aluminum in his mouth hanging out slightly while his eyes bulged.

"But—how?! Nobody's beaten Chiron!" Grover exclaimed. "Never!" Dionysus just nodded a bit numbly.

Riker leaned forward in his chair and rested his forearms on the back. "Ah-ah. But that was before I came along, wasn't it?" His blue eyes twinkled.

Mr. D stood up, and Grover got up as well. "I'm quite tired." The god said without emotion. "I believe I will take a nap before the sing-along tonight. But first, Grover, we need to talk,  _again_ , about your less than perfect performance."

"Y-Yes sir." Grover said, his forehead beaded with sweat. Riker blinked and turned his head to look out over at the volley-ball game. It looked like the left-side team was wining.

"Cabin Eleven, Riker Jackson—"

"Riker  _Adley_  Jackson, my wine-loving friend." Riker blinked slowly, giving the man a lazy smile.

The god sneered halfheartedly. "Of course. Remember to mind your manners." He swept into the farmhouse and Grover followed behind him, twisting his cap nervously.

"Grover will be alright, Riker." Chiron said, though his words were unneeded. "Old Dionysus isn't really angry. He just hates his job. He's been... ah, grounded, I suppose you could say, and just can't stand to wait another century until he's allowed back on Olympus."

"Mount Olympus," Riker nodded. "No, is it still on the one in Greece—like, do the gods and such have jurisdiction on the entirety of the world and free reign, or are they situated in America now?"

"Yes," Chiron said, once again pleasantly surprised. Riker just shrugged—no one could say he'd never studied for any tests. "There is a Mount Olympus in Greece, and then there is Mount Olympus, palace and home to most of the Greek pantheon. And, you are correct. They are in America now. They follow the heart of the West."'

"Western Civilization?"

"Indeed. Did you think it is an abstract concept? No, it's a living force. A collective consciousness that had burned brightly for thousands of years. The gods are a part of it. You could even say, they are the heart of it—or, at least, they are tied so tightly to it that they cannot possibly fade, unless the entirety of the Western Civilization were to be obliterated. The fire started in Greece. Then it moved to Rome, and so on, and so on."

"Didn't it go to Egypt or something after that?" Riker asked thoughtfully.

"Oh, for a short time, but it wasn't very long. Wherever the flame was brightest. They spent several centuries in England—"

"Which is why you have an accent," Riker snickered.

"—all you need to do is look at the architecture. People do not forget the gods. Every place they've ruled, for the last three thousand years. They've been in paintings, sculptures, the most important buildings. Look at America's symbol, the sacred eagle of Zeus, or the statue of Prometheus in Rockfeller Center. The Greek facades of the government buildings in Washington. I doubt you will find a single city without the Olympians are not prominently displayed in multiple places. America is now the heart of the flame. It's the great power of the West. And so, Olympus is here, and we are here."

Riker stared at the man incredulously. "Did you just give me a  _lecture_?"

Chiron paused. "Hm. It seems so."

"Dude, it's  _summer_! Boycotting, remember? Did you remember  _any_  of that?!"

"For now," Chiron continued, as if he just hadn't heard him, and Riker huffed, "we should get you a bunk in Cabin Eleven—"

"I thought Annie-girl was checking on that?" Riker asked, eyes glittering. Chiron paused, then smiled sheepishly as he was caught trying to change the subject.

"Still, there will be new friends for you to meet. And plenty of time for lessons tomorrow. Besides, there will be s'mores at the camp fire tonight, and I simply adore chocolate."

"Sure, sure, old man." Riker waved his hands in the air. "Let's go feed your addiction, why don't we." They both stood up from the table—and Chiron really did stand up. Right out of the wheelchair, and his legs did movie. Instead, his waist just kept growing, longer and longer. Riker waited patiently and the body of a white stallion emerged from the most likely magical chair and decided against questioning

the centaur on how he could fit his whole ass into that little,  _tiny_  space...

"What a relief," the horse-man stretched. "I'd been couped up in there for so long, my fetlocks had fallen asleep."

He turned to Riker, who raised an eyebrow at him, and grinned cheerfully. "Come, now, Mr. Jackosn. Let's meet the rest of the camp."


	6. Not-A-Summer-School

_I'd run into bullies before._

_Usually, they picked on me once and didn't do so again; this especially happened when I was little, as I was a bit on the scrawny side and I apparently looked like a good target._

_They didn't make that mistake twice, I assure you._

_As I said. I'd run into bullies before—just not an entire cabin of them._

_Of course, I've never taken the time to actually get to know any of my short-time bullies before. Still, I had a feeling that they weren't as interesting as these guys were._

_And they weren't really bullies. Just children of Ares. There's a big difference, I'll tell you that._

**Chapter Six**

A few moments later and Riker was walking alongside a centaur, past the volleyball pitch and toward the large U-shaped gathering of cabins. If you had told him he'd be doing this a few weeks before, he'd have laughed in your face and went looking for whatever you were taking, but now he just wanted everyone to stop staring at him. Sure, he felt a bit like a celebrity and all, but they were starting to make him uncomfortable, and he felt more out of place than he had in a long time. So he just tighten his one-handed grip on the Minotaur's massive horn and adjusted his glasses with his free fingers, pretending that he couldn't hear the whispers.

"You see the horn, right?"

"—talked about it last night. Heard he was out for a day—"

"I wouldn't be surprised, it was the  _Minotaur_ —"

"— at that horn, it's  _huge_ —"

Someone else pointed at him with a finger. "That's  _him_."

A lot of the campers were older than him, some by a good few years. The other satyrs were bigger than Grover, trotting around in orange camp t-shirts. The way they all stared at him, even the pretty girls by the trees that had green skin—that he guessed were wood-nymphs—had their eyes on him as he walked. He kept his eyes focused ahead, but he felt like they were all expecting him to do some sort of fancy flip or something.

Which he could do. And... Well, what the hell? Let's give these fellows a show. Riker turned to Chiron and raised an eyebrow. "I have a lot of excess energy from that weird drink form earlier. I'll meet you at the cabin's yeah?"

Chiron raised an eyebrow, and looked like he was about to ask him what he meant to do, but Riker spun around and raised his hands into the air, placing his feet in a beginning position like he'd been taught at the gym. Leaning back slightly, he vaulted forward onto his hands and did a fast procession of flips and sideways spins in midair until he had made his way all the way across the lawn and was surrounded by cabins. He whistled cheerfully, braces his hands behind his head and turned back to watch a slightly-exasperated Chiron come galloping after him. The teens back at the volleyball pitch and some other straggling campers around the area had stopped whatever they were doing to stare after him with mouthes slightly ajar. Riker smirked.

Well, he'd never told anyone he didn't like showing off now and then.

"Yo, old man," Riker spoke up as Chiron came near again. He had his eyes toward the top of the farmhouse. "What's up there?"

The uppermost window to the attic gable was where Riker was looking. Just for a moment, he'd seen those dusty gray curtains shift, like someone had looked out. At him.

Chiron looked back to where the teen was pointing, and his smile melted off a little. "Just the attic."

"Someone live in there?"

"No," he said with finality. "Not a single living thing."

Riker peered up at the centaur, who suddenly wouldn't look at him, and blinked. Well, the guy was telling the truth—he felt—but not the entirety of it.

Riker just shrugged and decided to leave it for a rainy day.

"Come along." Chiron went on. "Lots to see."

They walked through the strawberry fields that Riker vaguely remembered from the high-speed Minotaur-Camaro chase. Campers wanders around picking bushels of the fruits while satyrs stood near plying their reed pipes.

"It pays our expenses," Chiron explained. "Taxes, quest funds, and it also helps us keep our front before the mortals."

"I guess they take little to no effort." Riker mused aloud. "I mean, satyrs and nymphs are everywhere here and they're almost one with the green. Then you guys have got Dionysus, who mere presence I'm sure helps exponentially."

"Indeed," Chiron nodded in agreement. "It works best with grape vines, but as he is restricted from growing those, we settled for strawberries."

Riker paused a short second to glance at a satyr. He was playing his reed pipes and causing long lines of bug and other pests to go marching out of the berry patches one by one. He wondered if Grover could do that—something to make him useful, at least.

He wondered if the good director was finished chewing him out yet.

"Oi, old man," Riker called, and Chiron looked back at him. "Goat-boy won't get busted too bad or anything, right? I mean, it was partially my fault, too." Just because Riker hated feeling guilty about anything. It wouldn't be fair if Grover was blamed for everything that had gone wrong that night.

Chiron let out a sigh as he shed his tweed jacket and raped it over his horse-half's back like a saddle. "Grover has big dreams, Mr. Jackson. Perhaps larger than possible. To reach his goal, he must first demonstrate great courage in succeeding as a Keeper—finding a new camper and bringing them to Camp Half-Blood."

"Ah," Riker realized. "So that's what it was. I thought it was some trashy romance club or something." He shrugged off his own leather jacket and swung it over a shoulder carelessly. "Still, goat-boy did that! … Sorta."

"I must agree with you," Chiron told him, "but it is not my place to decide. I'm afraid that task falls onto the shoulders of the Cloven Council of Elders and Dionysus to decide. They might not see this assignment as a success. After all, Grover lost you in New York, and there's the... ah, unfortunate fate of your mother to take into consideration," Riker winced subtly. "And the fact that Grover was unconscious when  _you_  dragged him over the property line. The Council might question whether this shows any bravery on Grover's part."

"Oh," Riker paused. "Right. I overlooked the courage part. Yeah, he's screwed."

Still. If he hadn't given the wimp the slip at the bus station, maybe Grover wouldn't be in trouble. And, maybe his mom might still be alive.

"Won't they give him another chance or something?"

Chiron winced. "Ah, I'm afraid that  _was_  his second chance, Riker. The council wasn't overly eager to give him even that. I did advise him to wait a few more years until trying again—Olympus knows he's a bit small for his age."

"How old is he anyway?" Riker asked curiously.

"Twenty-eight."

Riker spluttered. "Eh?! And he's in sixth grade?!" Then he paused to think about it. "Oh. I guess satyrs and nymphs would age slower than us measly little humans..."

"Satyrs mature half as fast as humans, and nymphs are recored to live for centuries—they last as long as their trees do."

"What about water nymphs?"

"The naiads? They do not have trees. They are somewhat immortal, but can be killed."

Riker nodded, but his mind was still much farther back in their conversation. It started back when Chiron had mentioned his mother's fate. It was like he'd been intentionally avoiding the word  _death_. The beginnings of a plan formed in his mind, but he knew it still needed a lot of work.

They made their way to the forest, and Riker paused for a moment to realize how completely  _large_  it was. Not as large as the vast Canadian forests he'd visited once, but pretty big for New York. The woods took up at least a quarter of the valley and contained trees so tall and thick, you could imagine that no one had been in there since the Native Americans—and that the Native Americans might still be out there somewhere.

"The woods are fully stocked, if you wish to try your luck—but go in armed and with a partner."

"Stocked?" Riker perked up. "You mean, with...  _targets_?" He grinned. "Living ones?"

Chiron eyed him somewhat warily, as if he'd just realized what exactly he may be releasing unto the world. "Indeed... And Capture the Flag is Friday nights. Do you have your own sword and shield?

"I'm a teen living in upstate New York, old man," Riker deadpanned. "What makes you think I've got old flimsy relics like that?" He didn't want to give Chiron the pen back just yet, but the question was valid. He decided to make his possession known, however. "And are you forgetting that  _writing utensil_  you so graciously gave me already?"

Chiron let out a sigh. "I really would like that back, but I suppose it wouldn't matter if you use it for now, since you do seem to have taken quite the liking to it. But as for a shield—well, we will visit the armory later."

They went on and saw the archery range, the canoe lake and paid a visit to the pegasi. They went past the javelin range and the sing-along amphitheater. And Riker was really interested in the large arena where Chiron told him they held sword and spear fights.

" _Really_?" He asked. "I'm liking this place better and better!"

Chiron nodded. "Cabin challenges and all that. Not lethal. Usually. Oh yes, there's the mess hall."

Riker trailed behind him a moment or two, mouthing ' _usually,?,'_  with an awes look on his face. He quickly caught up, however, and took a peek at where he would have all of his meals—that is, if he didn't sleep through breakfast like he normally did.

It was an outdoor pavilion framed by large, white, marble columns on a hill overlooking the sea. It held a dozen long stone picnic tables. No walls, no roof.

"Does it rain here, or do you guys have a godly blessing that helps you avoid nasty weather?"

Chiron only smiled down at him proudly.

Finally, they found themselves back at the cabins. Twelve of them, all nestles comfortable into the woods by the lake. They were, as Riker had noticed before, arranged in a large U, with two at the base and five on either sides.

Aside from the large brass number above each door, the buildings looked absolutely nothing alike.

Cabin Nine had smokestacks, like some type of tiny factory.

Number four had tomato vines on the walls and a roof made of farmed grass—maybe some type of wheat.

Seven appeared to be made of solid gold, and gleamed so brightly in the sun it almost hurt to look at.

The cabins at the base looked like his-and-hers mausoleums. The first was the largest, big and bulky and sparkling like a vampire. The second was more graceful with the columns curving in like peacock feathers.

"Zeus and Hera's cabins seem empty." Riker noted.

"Several of the cabins are, that is true," Chiron replied. "No one ever stays in Cabin One or Two," which meant Hera had no demigod children. Riker felt satisfied—at least one Olympian remained loyal to their spouse. Then he tuned back in to Chiron, who was still speaking. "Or Three." Riker looked over at the mentioned Cabin Three, and noticed how it looked a bit like a beach house. It was the nearest Cabin in the direction of the lake and smelled of salt and waves. Riker didn't like it—it looked so sad, and lonely. He instantly thought of his mother, and looked away.

Cabin Six was pretty much the opposite of Seven, with a solid silver look about it instead of gold and it glowed like the full moon on a cloudless night. Artemis, he guessed. It was empty as well, which made sense, since she was a maiden goddess.

But Riker's favorite by far was Cabin number Five. It was painted with an angry red color, splotchy in places, as if the color had been slapped on with hammers, buckets and fists instead of brushes. Barbed wire encircled the roof, and a stuffed boar's head was mounted over the doorway. The eyes of the boar seemed to stare at whoever was walking past. Punk rock music blared from the inside loudly, along with the sounds of shattering furniture and quarreling yells. Through the open door, he could see a girl his age, with tough, light brown, almost dirty blond hair, who wore black sports shorts and an extra large orange camp t-shirt under a camouflage jacket. She was dancing around to the blaring music as the rest of the kids in the cabin wrestled and argued with one another. She glanced up and cast him a small sneer. He grinned back.

As they moved on, Riker looked up at Chiron. "There any other centaurs here, old man?"

"No," Chiron said, a bit sadly. "My kinsmen are a wild and barbaric folk. You might encounter them in the wild or at major sporting events, but not here." Riker grinned eagerly. He wanted to meet these guys! Well, horses. Horse-people...

"I assume you're immortal, since you're the Chiron from legend," the teen went on, and Chiron watched him speak with an eyebrow raised in curiosity at what the boy had to say. "Does it ever get boring?"

"No, no." He shook his head. "Horribly depressing, at times, but never boring."

Riker nodded as they walked along, nearing the Cabin marked "11," and the young teen grinned. "Hey, lookit! Annie-girl's waiting for us!"

When they reached her, Annabeth looked him up and down critically, as if she was still pondering how much he drooled.

Riker looked over at the book she'd been reading, held tightly in her hand. On the cover he could just make out Greek and Roman temples and all kinds or buildings. The title was in ancient Greek, and read _Architecture through the Ages_. Well, lookie here. Annie-girl was a nerd.

"Annabeth," Chiron finally said. "I have archery class at noon. Would you mind taking Riker from here."

Annabeth looked as if she did, in fact, mind, but she flashed the centaur a smile and said, "Sure, Chiron."

Other than her ramblings about the solstice deadlines and "you drool when you sleep," that's the only thing Riker had ever heard the blond say. What a kiss-up.

"Cabin Eleven," Chiron turned to him, and Riker regarded him casually. "Make yourself at him." Then, he galloped away.

Riker ignored Annabeth, who was still analyzing him intently, and took a look at his future home. Out of all the cabin, Cabin Eleven looked the most normal—as in, your average old summer camp cabin, emphasis on old, if you took into consideration the peeling pant and the shabby furniture he could see inside.

Riker walked up and kicked pen the door. It slammed into a body or two. He realized how packed the cabins were, and frowned. Why didn't the gods just lend the overflowing Hermes campers—because that's what he realized these kids were—some room? Their own cabins, even if only representing them and free of their children, were practically abandoned. The gods could be generous and give these guys a place to sleep.

Okay then. Mental nice-guy time spent. He surveyed the now silent cabin mates, who were staring at him. Sizing him up. He returned the stare full-force, and some had to glance away.

He knew this routine. He'd gone through it at every school he'd gone to. Every year.

"Can't you knock like a civilized person?" Annabeth grumbled form behind him as she followed him over the threshold, and Riker looked back to flash her a grin. Before he tripped over someone's sleeping bag.

The Hermes campers got ready to laugh at him, but Riker just expertly rolled on his palms and flipped up again, landing firmly on his feet halfway across the room. He looked around warily for more obstacles, and finding none, glances at the gaping campers.. "Cabin needs to be bigger." He mumbled loudly.

Annabeth sighed. "Riker Jackson, meet Cabin Eleven."

"Regular or undetermined?" Somebody asked.

"Undetermined," Riker said, crossing his arms while Annabeth looked over at him with a slightly surprised look. He figured undetermined meant that they didn't know who his dad was. He had a good idea, but he wasn't overly fond of it. Cabin five looked way nicer to him.  
Everyone groaned, and someone mumbled. "I'll eat my socks if he's not an Ares kid."

Riker grinned.

"Now, now," a tall blond guy with a thick white scar mottling his rather handsome appearance stepped forward when his cabin mates had groaned. "That's what we're here for, campers."He turned around with a smile. "Welcome, Riker. You can have that spot on the floor, right over there." He pointed.

Riker looked. "Uh, yeah. Nope. I think I'll just sleep on the roof. That's cool with me. Cool with you? Usually that more comfortable than any floor." He shrugged at their looks of disbelief. "I've done it plenty of times before."

"But if you go outside past curfew, the harpies have clearance to eat you!" A younger camper exclaimed, a girl with dark red hair. She looked to be about seven.

Riker let out a loud laugh and crouched down to her size with a grin. "Really? That'll be exciting! But, I won't really be away from the cabin if I'm on the roof, will I?"

That made them all pause. "Well..." The blond guy from before started uncertainly. "I still don't think it's a good idea, but I guess you can do what you want."

"Riker," Annabeth stepped up, then, gesturing at the blond guy. "This is Luke. He'll be your counselor for now." But she was blushing, and Riker chuckled.

"Awww, does Annie-girl have a crush now?" He asked, and the girl turned bright red while Luke raised an eyebrow as the rest of the cabin murmured to each other.

"What makes you think that?" Annabeth spluttered, face like a tomato. "No!"

Luke smiled, but this time it was with a little hesitancy. "Cabin Eleven takes in all the undetermined, so that's why we're a little crowded. Hermes, our patron, is the god of travelers, after all."

Riker turned back to him, nodding. "Mhm. And thieves. Which is why I'm sleeping on the roof." He winked. Several of the blond haired kids laughed as the rest of the campers edged away from them ever so slightly, but looked used to the treatment.

"Come on," Annabeth came over and tugged on his arm roughly. "Let's go see the volleyball court."

Riker pulled his arm away. "Been there, done that." He shot back.

But Miss California Girl was stronger than she looked, and only pulled harder, until they were back walking outside and Riker was scowling at her. She ignored him. "Yo have to do better than that, Jackson."

"No, I don't," He snapped, getting tired of the girl's attitude. "And what's with this treatment, huh? All I did was kill that bull-man—"

"Don't talk like that!" She said back, raising her voice a little. "Do you know how many kids at this camp wish they had the chance you did?"

"To get killed?" Riker deadpanned, pissed. "To watch their mother vanish in a golden light before their eyes as she was being strangled?"

She winced, pausing in he tirade. "... I didn't mean that part. But that was—"

"The Minotaur," Riker rolled his eyes, walking ahead of her. "Yes I know. Did you already forget about me saying "One Son pf Pasiphae, defeated," back before you watched me pass out on the porch? And then watched me sleep the next day?" He waggled his eyebrows, before turning back around, not really yin the mood to even tease her.

But she still turned red. "I was watching over you because you were seriously injured! Glass embedded in your skin all over! Besides, you defeated him—sure-but you didn't kill him. Monsters can't die. Their essence only returns to Tartarus before reforming on the world. That can takes a few years or even decades, depending on their power, though."

"So my evil Math teacher's gonna come back, then," Riker groaned. Damn, I knew killing her wouldn't keep her down for long.

She looked at him strangely, before her face cleared in understanding. "That's right. The Fu—um, math teacher you defeated. She'll be forming in Tartarus right about now, and I'm guessing she's really mad at you."

"She was a Fury, then," Riker realized. "Hades' torturers. I guess that makes sense, but it still doesn't tell me what she—or her master—wanted."

"Don't say their names!" She hissed, glancing at the ground as if she expected it to swallow her up. Riker snorted. "They should learn to deal with it. Sure, names have power, but I don't see why we shouldn't say them out loud. It's stupid. Like every undetermined camper staying at Hermes' place. The other gods should be gracious and lend them their cabins. They have plenty of room anyhow." he pointed out one of the empty cabins, and Annabeth paled.

"You just don't choose a cabin like that, Riker. It depends on who your parents were... or, your parent." Riker stiffened.

"My mother is Sally Jackson." He said, but he knew she was talking about his dad. He glanced over at Cabin Three for a moment, before turning away. As if he'd step in there. "She works at the candy shop at Grand Central.. Or, she used to." He twisted around a few times in either direction and cracked his spine a few times. Annabeth winced.

"I'm sorry about your mom, Riker. But that's not what I meant. I was talking about your other parent. Your dad."

"I don't care which god he is." Riker snorted. "He could be Zeus himself and I'd still go chase after him and punch him in the face." He had promised, after all.

Annabeth sighed. "So, I don't know him," she admitted. "But I know you, and you wouldn't be here if you weren't one of us."

" _Ob_ viously." Riker huffed in irritation. He knew this already. This girl was annoying. "But you don't know anything about me."

"No?" She raised an eyebrow. "I bet you were moved around from school to school. I bet you were kicked out of a lot of them."

"By my own power." He replied. "That has nothing to do with this. I chose to leave them and I only got expelled when I wanted to."

She blinked, momentarily surprised, before moving on. "Diagnosed with dyslexia, and probably ADHD as well."

"Sure," Riker shrugged. "But I'm guessing that must be a thing with us demigods. It doesn't define  _me_. You don't know  _me_ , or anything  _about_  me. All you know is the demigod stereotypes, which will obviously apply to me as well as you. That doesn't show me anything."

Annabeth looked away, most likely not wanting admit defeat. Instead, she went on to explain these things. "The dyslexia is because our brains are hardwired for ancient Greek. And ADHD is our battle reflexes. They would keep you alive in a real fight, despite being annoying in the classroom. And the attention problems—that you don't really seem to have, Riker—are because you see too much. Not too little. Your senses are better than a regular mortals."

"My ADHD doesn't normally affect me," Riker started. He had listened intently and now understood a lot of things. Not that he wouldn't have eventually come to the conclusions himself, but this way was faster. "Well, it probably does, but I don't find it annoying. I'm used to it, and I actually like it. It gives me an excuse not to pay attention. And the attention problems? I do have those, but not in the way you think. I sometimes pay too much attention, not too little—just like you mentioned. But I can focus any it all, not just in quick flashes like is regular for those diagnosed with ADHD."

She was about to reply, but a gruff female voice called out to them from behind. "Well, lookie here! A newbie!"

Riker had heard that voice shouting back in Cabin Five. He grinned an d spun around, not noticing the irritated look on Annabeth's face.

"Clarisse," the blond girl growled before Riker could say anything. "Why don't you go polish your spear or something?"

"Sure, Miss Princess," the girl smirked, and Riker raised an eyebrow. "So I can run you through with it in Capture the Flag?"

" _Go to the crows_!" Annabeth yelled in ancient Greek. He somehow had the feeling it was a worse curse than it seemed, so he filed it away for later. He needed to stock up on cusses in this newfound language of his. "You won't stand a chance!"

"We'll pulverize you,," Clarisse's eye twitched. Apparently she wasn't sure she could follow through with that threat, and Riker made a mental note to make sure to change that. Annabeth's team was going down Friday night. The daughter of Ares turned to him. "Who's this guy?" She asked, sizing him up and down.

"Riker Jackson." Annabeth said, stepping forward. "Meet Clarisse, counselor of Cabin Eleven."

"Daughter of the War God," he mused aloud, looking the potential rough-housing partner from top to bottom.

"You have a problem with that?" the girl growled.

Riker smirked over at her. "Nah. I just hope I'm in your cabin. It fucking rocks."

Clarisse and her siblings seemed surprised by this, since it apparently threw them for a loop. They stared over at him, then grinned in unison. "I  _see_. Potential child of Ares, then?"

Riker let out a morose sigh. "I'm hoping, but it kinda seems unlikely. I know it's my dad, though. I just don't think someone like Ares would take to someone like my mom, no matter how awesome they both are."

"I'm thinking we can skip the initiation ceremony." Clarisse told her cabin mates, who agreed.

"Yeah, He seems like the right sort."

"Let's get him for Friday!"

Annabeth remained silent, just watching their meeting and exchange with a blank face. Apparently Clarisse and her siblings didn't take this well to noobs like him.

Clarisse sidled up to Riker and swung an arm around his shoulder. "C'mon, Rike—can I call you Rike?" He nodded, "You ditch Wise Girl here and we'll give the tour instead. It's much more fun with the Ares kids."

"Chiron already gave me tour," Riker sighed wistfully, wishing the centaur hadn't, now. "Annie-girl was just dragging me away from the Hermes cabin since I was making a laughing stock of her and the counselor's relationship status."

The three children of Ares grinned at each other and looked back at him as they led him away from the fuming daughter of Athena—Riker deducted, from Clarisse's wide-girl pun. "I think we'll get along fabulously."

They dragged him down to the yard in front of Cabin Five and looked him over one last time. "They're all saying you're Big Three material," Clarisse told him. "I was thinking no at first, but that was before our glorious meeting. I think you could be, but I'm hoping Dad's giving us another brother here." She grinned.

"Big three?" He tilted his head, pulling his jacket back on over his mesh. "Lemme guess—Zeus, Poseidon, Hades? I was under the impression Thunderwear and Spongebob didn't have no kids—and Hades doesn't have a cabin here."

They regarded him closely, before all four broke out laughing. "Thunderwear?" The blond kid next to Clarisse choked. "Don't let him hear you call him that! He'll turn you crispy!"

"Spongebob," Clarisse snickered. "Poseidon's a little more soft than Zeus, Jace," she said to the blond as the raven-haired teen gave Riker a high five. "But I think we could be more creative with an insulting nickname."

Riker nodded. "I agree. It was just off the top of my head, though. I'm sure we could come up with better."

"What about Hades?" The Raven-haired child of Ares asked.

"Not sure if even I wanna risk angering him, Matt," Clarisse pondered. "But Corpse Breath sounds okay for now."

"Juvenile." Riker cut in with a roll of his blue eyes. "I was thinking more like "Supreme Lord of the Zombies," It's a little less creative and not as funny, but he's actually one of the gods I respect." he shrugged. He does judge our measly little souls when we die, after all.

"Guess so." Jace intoned, before grinning. "But man oh man. We'll definitely win Capture the Flag this week! Athena cabin's going to eat the dust!"


	7. Nothing Harmful

_I'm the kind of guy who jokes around with his friends and teases other people senseless._

_Sometimes it's to the point that it hurts them._

_Sometimes they're able to laugh with me._

_Once, I made a girl cry._

_I've never felt like such an ass in my life._

_I tried to apologize, but I ended up turning the conversation the other way and making another joke, about someone else that I knew she disliked._

_She laughed that time, and ended up forgiving me, but I never **apologized**._

_It's like the words wouldn't come out of my mouth._

_I guess I'm a jerk, really. And sometimes, I tend to not care._

**Chapter Seven**

Word of the lucky new guy who Ares' cabin didn't pummel spread quite quickly, but Clarisse, Riker, and an Ares kid named Jesse—Jace's older brother—didn't bother paying the whispering groups of campers any mind as they trudged down to the training area. That was what Riker really wanted to see, after all. They'd left Matt and Jace back in the cabin, since the they had archery class in fifteen minutes and didn't want to be late no matter how much they loathed it—after all, why would one wish to shoot arrows when they could be tying the scrawnier kids to posts with duct tape and covering them in honey stolen from the kitchens? Exactly.

They passed the forge, where children of Hephaestus smithed their own weapons and a variety of other contraptions, on their way down that lawn. They skimmed the edge of the woods and Riker caught a look at the rock climbing wall—actual rock, it was. And not just any rock, but molten. He grinned. Maybe he would enjoy it here after all. All the other camps he'd ever been to hadn't nearly been this interesting.

They walked straight passed the crafts room where Riker minutely glanced in and spotted a few satyrs sandblasting a marble statue of a rather large satyr with a laurel wreath on his head—the god of the Wild, Pan, he supposed.

He rolled his eyes and walked after Clarisse and Jesse, who were murmuring to each other and glancing back at him every so often. It seemed the satyrs still weren't over their successor's  _death_. Seriously, it has been over two thousand years.

He released a yawn as he caught up with his new friends, twisting around for a moment to get a better look at the rock wall. Two of them, actually. They shook violently at unpredictable moments, sprayed lava, and clashed together at random intervals. He almost felt sorry for whatever poor bastard didn't make it to the top in time.

"Here," Clarisse finally stopped once they reached the marble pillars he'd seen in the distance before.. She and her half brother grinned at him. "The arena. So?"

"Yeah, how do you like it?"

He eyed the weapons stacked in the far left of the area and smirked at them. "I think I like it here. Reminds me of my closet, but more spacey."

They laughed. "C'mon," Jesse told him, motioning for him to follow after him as the two blonds made their way out of the arena again. "It's almost dinner, and we really needs showers—but you wanna spar sometimes after, or tomorrow?"

"Do I  _want_  to?" Riker asked, raising an eyebrow. "Well, duh. Who wouldn't?"

Clarisse grinned. "Food's served at seven-thirty, don't be late or you'll get kitchen duty for a night—not fun, really, unless you enjoy washing your hands in lava. Just follow your cabin to the mess hall and we'll meet you there!"

She waved smugly and then raced Jesse back to the cabin area. Riker stretched until he felt his back pop and and hit his palm with his fist. "Hm," he mumbled. The grin was gone and his eyes were a dark green now, mixed with gray. He made his way over to the marble steps that surrounded the arena—which served as bleachers—and took a seat, hugging his knees to his chest. He stared at the ground blankly for a moment.

Sometimes, grinning so much hurt his face. Especially when the smiles weren't entirely real.

He felt like a little brat, but he really missed his mom. So much it almost hurt. Worse than appendicitis, which had hurt like a bitch. He remembered that hospital trip, screaming in the back of the ambulance and clutching his abdomen. His mother had sat back with tears in her eyes as the paramedics held him to the table and pumped morphine through the needle in his wrist. He'd been sick for a few days, maybe two or so. Really sick, with a high fever and multiple trips to pay acknowledgment to the porcelain deity that resided in the bathroom, giving it his meager breakfast and maybe lunch if he'd eaten as an offering.

He hated being sick. He looked back on those days and the surgery in distaste, but they still didn't hurt as much as he was now.

Really. Because Sally Jackson was just vanished, and Riker had no clue were. He refused to think she was dead, but the way she'd gone was just so...

He couldn't think of anything else.

But, no. She wasn't dead. That didn't mean she wasn't somewhere in the Underworld by chance, and Riker was planning on meeting the Lord of the Dead himself, hades, face to face soon enough. He just had to think of something to negotiate. Maybe like Orpheus—except, Riker sucked at musical instruments and he didn't really think that would work. After all, the were the Greeks, and Riker would be speaking to _Hades_ , not Pluto.

His eyes stung like he'd gotten rubbing alcohol in them again, and he tapped his eyelids gently, willing the salty liquid to go away. Riker wasn't one to cry, but he just  _didn't know what to do_. He felt completely helpless.

He found himself wandering near the canoe lake and wondered when he'd stood up and started walking. He leaned forward on his toes and raised an eyebrow at the teenage girls sitting at the bottom of the lake-bed. Naiads, he thought, after examining them; they had blue skin, one wore a white t-shirt and gray short-shorts on, and the other was dressed in a shimmering green blouse and blue jeans. The one in shorts was braiding the other's matching navy hair. They paused when they noticed him looking at them and smiled, waving cheerfully up at him. Like he was some sort of long-lost friend, and Riker felt that maybe he should be creeped out, but he wasn't and that was even weirder.

He waved back with a wink anyway.

"Don't encourage them," a voice spoke up from behind him. "Naiads are terrible flirts."

Riker made sure to place a mischievous grin on his face before turning around. "I don't think they were flirting with little old me, Annie-girl, but I'm flattered you think so."

"You ditched me."

"I did, didn't I?" He murmured thoughtfully, glancing at the sky. "And that surprised you, why?"

"Maybe you really are a child of Ares," the blond huffed under her breath, striking a nearby stone with the tip of her shoe. They both watched it tumble down into the edge of the lake. "You have the manners for it."

"Why are you over here?"

"I can be by the lake if I want, can't I?" She raised an eyebrow. "It's not like there's a "No Trespassing" sign anywhere."

"You followed me."

"I did not."

He grinned. "Admit it. You were following me. Ha!" He spun around and pumped his fist into the air. "Oh, wow! Listen, world! Annie-girl had a crush on your's truly!" he cackled as Annabeth's face turned red.

"I do not!" She screeched. Riker winced at the volume, but only smirked and stabbed a finger in her direction.

"Do too."

"I  _don't_!"

"So you're a daughter of the Wisdom goddess, huh?" He asked a bit softly, twisting back around to gaze across the lake with his arms behind his back. Annabeth's eye twitched—apparently,. She found his sudden switch in personality irritating.

But she relaxed her aggressive stance and huffed at him. "Yeah. What's it to you?"

"Isn't Athena a maiden goddess?"

"Yes." The blond's shoulders fell ever so slightly, and a strained look came over her face. Her voice was stiff.

"The how—"

"How was Athena born?" She asked him in answer to his unspoken question.

Riker blinked. "Well, she came out of Zeus' split sku—" His eyes widened. " _Oh_. Oh, no  _way_!"

"It's true," she shrugged her shoulders, sitting at the edge of the dock they'd somehow walked over to during their conversation. "All of Athena's children are born from her mind. I was sent down to my father's doorstep in a golden basket."

He caught the slight tension in her words when she said  _father_. "I guess he wasn't too taken with that event." He observed.

"I'm not  _overly fond_  of him." She said firmly.

"What kind of guy was he, to catch the goddess of Wisdom's eye? Was he a nerd or something?"

"A professor at a university. He taught history."

"So a nerd," Riker nodded. Annabeth glared at him. It seemed, no matter how much she disliked the guy, she wasn't amused when other people insulted him. How strange.

But he leaned back in his spot on the dock next to her and supported himself on his elbows. "I was thinking. It's weird how the gods get together and have kids with mortals and stuff. I mean, they did that way back when, right? So, how can they know that the person they're having a kid with isn't their great great great—how many greats—grandchild or something? It's a bit disturbing, y'know?"

It appeared that Annabeth did. She has paused in throwing pebbles into the lake and straightened, glancing up at the cloudless sky, which thundered slightly. She looked over at him and Riker saw she'd turned a little green.

"Well," He snickered. "Incest is wincest, right?"

Her eye twitched, and Annabeth began throwing her pebbles over at him instead. "Ow!  _Ow_! Okay—ow!  _Ouch_ , I was only joking— _ow_! Geez, Annie, I was  _kidding_!"

She sat back and let her handful of rocks tumble down into the lake under her shoes. Riker straightened up when he saw her ammo disappear, and rolled his eyes. "Lighten up, Annie-girl. You need a sense of humor."

They sat there silently for a while, just looking down at the lake and seeing if they could spot any Naiads. After the thirteenth puckered pair of blue lips he got, Riker looked up when Annabeth let out a sigh.

"Most halfbloods don't survive long enough to make families," she told him softly, swinging her feet over the water. "Monsters and whatnot tend to get us before we can get that far. But it's happened. I've just never really thought of that before. It's kind of disgusting—well, it would be, if gods didn't have DNA."

"That's why Chiron lets the campers date each other?"

"Mh-hm—well, he doesn't need to give us permission. We just don't go out with any of our cabin-mates. That's a bit taboo—what's  _really_  incest, around here." Annabeth looked like she couldn't believe she was actually having a discussion about the topic. Riker chuckled and stood up, dusting off his cargo pants. He glanced at the sky. "It's almost seven, by the position of the sun. Half an hour before dinner is served." He turned and examined the girl still sitting on the dock with a skeptical eye. She looked up at him and raised an eyebrow.

He shrugged. "I'm gonna see if I can catch a shower. Guess I'll see you there, but don't expect me to talk to you, alright?"

And with that, he jogged off.

**Ω Δ Σ**

"Wait, you've been to Mount Olympus?" That's it. Riker was jealous.

Clarisse appeared smug, and Jesse snickered behind her. "Uh-huh. Field trip. All the counselors of the cabins got to go. Saw the throne room, sat in on a Council meeting and everything."

Riker's eyes gleamed with a strange, plotting light. "How do you get there?"

"Long Island Railroad. You get off at Penn Station, Empire Building—there's a special elevator to the six hundredth floor. You get a key card from the receptionist guy, and up you go," Jesse raised his hand to reference an elevator. "The entire mountain top is, like, floating above the top of the tower, but it's all hidden by Mist so the mortals can't see anything."

"Bitchin'," Riker nodded, enthralled. "I wanna go."

Clarisse shook her head. "Not right now, you don't. I think the Big Three—or at least Thunderwear and Mermaid Man—are fighting or something. See, right after we visited, the weather got weird. It always does that when they're having a go at each other—I mean, Zeus, god of the sky and stuff, and Poseidon, god of the sea and all that. Why wouldn't the weather get weird?" She huffed. "The mortals are calling it a series of freak storms. I'd call them idiots if I didn't know the Mist was messing with their eyes."

The three were sitting at the Ares table, spooning mountains of food onto their plates while talking. Luke and Annabeth and some other campers had tried, along with Chiron, to not-so-subtly—and then outright—tell him that sitting at another cabin's table wasn't allowed during meals—but Riker had ignored them; when they'd looked top Dionysus to order the demigod to the Hermes' table, he'd just raised an eyebrow at them and continued eating. Riker had grinned in victory and Clarisse and Jesse had hounded him for details on how his first meeting with Mr. D had gone, because 'the stuck up prick looked like he actually  _didn't_   _hate_  him!'

He'd just smirked and took a sip from his goblet of root beer. Damn, that was good. Unlimited supply, too—cup just kept filling itself right back up before it was even close to empty. He loved it.

"We have no clue what happened, but I heard a couple of satyrs talking," Matt put in as he began to chewed thoughtfully on a leg of chicken. "They're shayin' smthing wsh shtolen."

Riker stuffed some food into his own mouth—he'd thrown a bit into the fire, but it was only to ask Ares if the god would allow him to stay in Cabin Five instead. Truly, he'd get  _lonely_  without his friends!

"Uh-huh." Jace gulped down his coke. "And, I heard, if it isn't returned by the summer solstice, there's gonna be big trouble."

"Maybe we could find out," Riker ignored the eyes of the rest of the curious campers at the other table, as well as the boring stares from Hermes' cabin. "I mean, Annie-girl and Chiron told me about the quest system. Maybe we could get one."

"You'd need to talk to the Oracle," Jesse told him, "I mean, if you're gonna be the quest leader, since you suggested it."

"And you'd need Chiron and Mr. D's permission, too." Clarisse added.

"I think they'll give it to me," Riker smirked. "After all. I have a name to clear."

Jace frowned. "What do you mean? Did you do something bad?"

"I've done plenty of less-than legal-stuff," Riker scoffed, and they all grinned, rolling their eyes, "but that's not what I meant. This time, I'm actually innocent."

They raised their eyebrows, and Riker threw his hands up in offense. "Hey! I am! But Chiron told me that Zeus and some others believe I was the 'thief.'"

"What?" Clarisse's eyes widened. "You mean, they think  _you_  stole whatever it was?"

"Guess so." Riker absentmindedly thumped Matt's back a few times to dislodge the bite of chicken he'd began to choke on. "I mean, that's what Chiron said. They might give me the quest themselves—at least, that's what I think Chiron is gonna do. He looked like he would. Not too sure if Mr. D would agree, but I don't really care what he thinks." He laughed out loud. "I mean, I beat the man at pinochle. He'll have to earn my respect back, if he'd ever had it in the first place."

"You?" Jesse gaped. "You beat Mr. D? At—at,  _pinochle_?!"

"How?" Clarisse questioned. "He just doesn't lose. I mean, he's the  _god_  of that stuff! He's only lost to Chiron!"

Riker shrugged, taking a bite of some ribs. "I'm just that awesome." And they shook their heads in disbelief. Riker internally scoffed. He would show them.

But, later. He was  _hungry_ , dammit!

Luke walked over, then, having finished his own meal. He ignored the scathing looks from the children of Ares and glanced at Riker. "We found you a sleeping bag, and I stole you some supplies from he camp store."

"Nicest thing anyone's ever done for me," Riker nodded, and his surrounding friends snickered. Luke ignored them as well.

The blond only shook his head. "You still sure about sleeping on the roof?"

His friends stopped laughing and turned to stare at him. Riker nodded. "It doesn't even rain here." he said. "I don't see what you're all so worried about."

"Alright, then. Um," Luke hesitate,d then slide next to him on the bench and tried not to flinch at the murderous glares from the surrounding offspring from the god of War. Riker grinned at him cheekily. Ha! They liked him better. "First day here, was it good?"

"Mhm," Riker yawned, swirling the drink in his goblet around and around. He decided he was full and blinked. "Chocolate milk."

"Wha—" Luke started, confused, but he stopped talking when he saw it was been the cup Riker had addressed, not him. "Oh."

They all watched silently as Riker goblet vanished the root beer and filled itself with the aforementioned beverage. Riker took a long sip, before setting it down again. He turned back to the uncomfortable son of Hermes. "So?"

He shrugged. "Do you think you're dad will claim you?"

Riker raised a brow. "Eager to get rid of me, yeah?" He ignored Luke's hurried reassurance that it hadn't been what he'd meant, but the Jackson waved him off. "Nah. He will. I got this feeling. Don't know when—I just hope it's Ares."

"What if it isn't?"

"I guess it doesn't matter. I'm still punching him in the face."

Luke blanched, and the children of Ares gaped over at him. "What!?" Clarisse blinked. "Why would you do that?"

"He can be Zeus for all I care," Riker shrugged. "He still left my mom all alone and we ended up with that douche-bag, Gabe. Whoever he is, he deserves a knuckle sandwich from yours truly."

Luke examined him with a strange look on his face, and Riker blinked. "You're a son of Hermes, I heard he really gets around. Ever met your dad, Luke?"

The blond's face darkened slightly, to the point where Riker was sure only he'd noticed. It surprised him, slightly. Luke seemed like an easy-going guy. "Yeah," the counselor of Cabin Eleven leaned back. "Once."

Riker waited for him to go on, but it seemed Luke wished to remain quiet about the subject. He wondered if the story had anything to do with how the guy had gotten that awesome scar.

Luke gave strained smile. "Ah, don't worry about it, Riker.."

Riker shrugged, then returned to his food. The rest of his new children-of Ares-friends joined him. However, after a minute of absolute silence, Riker turned back to see Luke still hadn't gone away. He raised an eyebrow. "Do ya need something?"

"Annabeth's been following you, hasn't she?"

The question threw him a bit off, honestly, but Clarisse and the others leaned in, suddenly interested. "Chase has been stalking you?" Jesse asked, raising an eyebrow. They all glanced over at the Athena table. Annabeth had her nose buried in a thick tome on statues from Crete. She didn't look up. They returned ot their conversation.

"Yeah," Riker affirmed. "Creeped me out, but I received plenty of opportunities to tease her in compensation, so it's cool—somewhat. Why?"

Luke shrugged. "I just thought you might want to know why." He looked uneasy, glancing over at Chiron before looking down again. "I heard you guys talking about a quest... I hate prophecies." He winced, looking away.

Riker wondered what the topics had to do with each other, and asked, "What do you mean?"

"Let's just say I messed things up for everyone else. The last two years, ever since my quest to the garden of Hesperides went sour, Chiron won't allow anyone to go on quests. Annabeth's been dying to go out there, see the world. She pestered Chiron so much, he finally told her that he already knew her fate—he'd heard a prophecy about it, from the Oracle. He didn't tell her the whole things, but he did say that she wasn't destined to go on a mission yet. She had to wait until... someone special, came along to lead it."

Riker blinked. "And... you think that's me?"

Luke let out a sigh, shaking his head. "Maybe. No. I don't know. Just don't worry about it, kid. Annabeth likes to think everyone new camper that comes around is the one she's been waiting for."

"Good," the Jackson snickered. "At least that's cleared up. I was beginning to think she believed I was her soul mate or something."

"That would have been messed up," Clarisse and Jesse said together, and the rest of them laughed—though, Luke only rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

He saw a flash of gold in his peripheral vision, and Riker turned just in time to see Annabeth rush out of the pavilion. Her face was beet red and she clutched the book to her chest tightly. She must have heard them. Luke saw too, and, with a short frown cast in their direction, he hopped off the bench and dashed after her.

Maybe Riker felt bad, if slightly, maybe he didn't. Truth was, he didn't care.

Or, the truth was, he did, and he just said he didn't.

It was easier to not care, anyway.

That was how Riker was.

He bent over his food again and continued to joke around with his new friends until Chiron stood to announce the end of the meal. He then cast a look to Mr. D, who rolled his eyes, but stood up. There wasn't that much of a height difference from when he was sitting down, but the mess hall grew silent anyways.

"Yes," the Wine god gave a self-suffering sigh. "I suppose I better say hello to you brats."

Riker snickered quietly and a few demigods could be heard grumbling to each other, but he only got a strange look from Matt as the camp director carried on.

"Well,  _hello_. Our activities director, Chiron, has informed me that the next Capture the Flag is this Friday. Presently, Cabin Five hold the laurels."

Riker laughed, clapping Clarisse, Jace, Jesse, and Matt on their backs as they rose with their half-siblings and cheered loudly. They sat down and Clarisse and Jesse shared a grin with him. "You gonna be on our team?" Clarisse asked.

"Is that an invitation?" He whispered back while the other tables reluctantly clapped.

She smirked.

"Personally," Mr. D went on, "I couldn't care less, but congratulations. Also," here, Riker saw a strange gleam entered the god's violet-tinted eyes, and the director smirked over at him, before switching to a playful sneer—that of course would have seemed as if the man really detested him if Riker hadn't been so observant. "We have a new camper today, I should tell you. Over there, at the Ares table—where, of course, he isn't suppose to be, but oh well—is one Riker Jackson. Say hello, minions."

Clarisse and Jesse, who sat on either side of him, immediately turned toward Riker and tackled him to the ground as the rest of the campers murmured a greeting—though, it wasn't like they could be heard over the raucous cheers from Cabin five.

As soon as they died down, some children of Athena glanced over between Riker and Mr. D curiously—they probably had noticed that the director treated him slightly different somehow, perhaps by actually getting his name right, but Riker ignored the looks as he stood and bowed with a smirk.

"That's right," Mr. D announced, quite boredly. "Hurrah, and all that. Now run along to your silly campfire. Go on."

After a round of Riker and the rest of the Ares cabin laughing and teasing the other campers as they sang stupid songs and joined in on the eating of s'mores, Riker found himself lying on the roof of the Hermes cabin, which was actually really comfortable. He could see the tendrils of the now dead camp fire over the amphitheater roll off into a starry sky. He didn't realize how tired he was until he pulled the borrowed sleeping bag around his shoulders. It wasn't that cold—warm enough for him to sleep outside in just his sweatpants, as he was now—but it was comforting to have the fabric around him. Like a shield. He wasn't one to fear the dark, he actually enjoyed it, but it was all the same. He liked feeling safe, too.

His fingers curled around the Minotaur's horn, and he closed his eyes—barely able to contain his excitement for that Friday, but too exhausted to keep them open.

That was his first day at Camp Half-Blood.

Maybe if he'd known how briefly he could enjoy the mere  _visit_ , then he would have planned a lot more pranks on a lot more people.

But, oh well. You couldn't have everything.


	8. Zeus' Fist, Chick-Magnet

_I was one of those kids who absolutely abhorred any type of schooling during the summers._

_I mean, c'mon, man. Summer is my chill-time, my designated three months away from such torture._

_I work my ass of during the school year(I really do), in preparation for letting it all loose from June to September without having to worry about any type of bad grade juju and all that._

_So I was understandably pissed when I found out that most of my schedule at this stupid camp was filled with lessons._

_At least we had interesting classes._

_Really interesting. My type of interesting._

_So, yeah. I'd let it slide. For now._

**Chapter Eight**

Over the next few days, Riker found himself settling into some kind of routine—it seemed almost normal if you didn't count the fact he was getting lessons from mythical beings.

Every morning he took Ancient Greek from Annabeth—and he really didn't need it, they both realized, since Riker's dyslexia practically just read it for him. It was like that with Latin and, for some reason, Japanese as well, but neither could figure out why. Annabeth wondered why this wasn't true for any other demigods. As she had nothing to teach him, Riker mainly spent that time teasing and getting on Annabeth's nerves—the blond was too stubborn and prideful to tell Chiron that Riker didn't actually need her lessons.

Most of the rest of the day Riker would just rotate through the outdoor activities, such as the epic challenge course that was set up in the arena as a public spectacle on Wednesdays, apparently; and he found that he enjoyed diving down into the lake and helping out the naiads with their household chores—salting the seaweed that washed in from the sea, raking up the leftovers of dinner and settling it into the underwater flowerbeds—a freshwater coral reef—and such things. They absolutely adored him, and he soon found himself helping out the nymphs with their chores too when the naiads gossiped about him to them.

Chiron had decided to teach Riker archery. Or, he had, until Riker proved he was excellent enough at it already. It came from hours spent at the shooting ranges back on his street, a little ways down from his apartment building. Of course, that was with pistols and rifles, but he'd discovered that the aiming was pretty much the same concept and had only needed two hour-long lessons to get the hang of it, and soon had it down to a science by Thursday.

Now, the foot-racing with the nymphs was  _fun_. He suspected they went easy on him, since they'd grown to hold a soft spot for him due to his aiding them in their chores and such. He would say it was a bit humiliating to be slower than a tree, but the nymphs had had centuries to perfect the skill, due to being chased by lovesick gods and whatnot. He didn't blame them. He wouldn't have wanted to end up with Dionysus either.

He enjoyed wrestling, really. He'd get together with a group of Ares kids, and sometimes a few of the Hermes or the Hephaestus kids would join in, and they'd all take turns pummeling each other into the ground. He'd always come out of it sweaty and covered in dust but that was always remedied by a quick shower in the bathhouses. It was usually a cold one, but he didn't mind that as much as the other kids, even some of the Ares campers, did.

He actually didn't hate canoing as much as he thought he did when he was forced to take part in it. Tipping over the other canoes with the help of the ever-so loving naiads was fun, really.

And the other classes? They were great!

Like wrestling(getting permission to beat each other up).

And swordsmanship(literally swinging large, sharp blades in each others' faces and not getting in trouble for it).

Then there was foot-racing(you'd think it would be boring, but it's practically chariot racing on foot, sabotage and all included).

And trying to shoot each other in the asses in archery(it was encouraged).

He knew the other campers were watching him, to see what he would do. He didn't necessarily blame them. He would watch him too. But, ego aside, he knew why. They were all trying to figure out who the Minotaur Slayer's father was. He did have his own guesses, only three, and none of them were the one he wanted, oh so desperately.

Despite the stalker-ish tendencies that seemed to run in everyone from this camp, he really did enjoy it. He loved the morning fog that came over the beaches, and the distinct strawberry smell—though it got old at times and he'd practically demanded that the Demeter cabin grow raspberries, watermelon and persimmons; his favorite fruits—he even adored those strange noises that the monsters in the woods made at night. They were like his personal lullaby and he liked falling asleep to them, perched up on top of the Hermes cabin roof. He was right about that, too. No harpy's had come to devour him in his sleep so far.

He usually dined with the Ares kids for dinners, but he liked to move around during lunch and sometimes chatted with the Hephaestus campers. Many of the other campers bristled at his supposedly free-reign to sit at whatever table he wished, but it seemed that Dionysus didn't even notice the slight envy directed at Riker, who was widely-known as his favorite camper now—aside from the wine-gods own children, the twins from Cabin Twelve.

He'd quickly developed a reputation around camp. He was known to the senior campers as "that tough younger kid who eats nails for breakfast and is buddy-buddy with the Ares kids." The rest of the campers saw him as "that scary new kid that Ares cabin likes." The nymphs and naiads adored him for being "that sweet, strong teen who helps out around the camp," and the satyrs mainly knew him as "Lord Dionysus' favorite—don't upset him."

He liked his "most awesome non-Ares camper out there" status within Cabin Five, and his "annoying, irritating but undeniably-smart jerk" with Annabeth.

Then, that Thursday, he'd been given his first sword-fighting lesson. He actually didn't need those either, having taken fencing and many related classes the summer after joining the gym. What could he say? He was an active guy.

The teacher was Luke, who was widely claimed to be the best swordsman in the last three centuries. Riker just couldn't see it, though. The blond was thin as a twig. Sure, he had  _some_  muscle, but Riker's were far more impressive.

"Good luck," one of the campers whispered to him as he made his way to the center of the arena, him and Luke surrounded by the rest of the class. Luke had announced that he'd be Riker's partner, since it was the Jackson first time. Riker just scoffed and rolled his eyes, waving the well-wishes—or rather, the scornful words—away with a dismissive hand. He was feeling extra arrogant, today, so he'd decided that morning to lay the bratty attitude on very thickly. It sort of helped that he had some skills to back it up, though.

Luke blinked at him and raised an eyebrow when the teen came to a stop in front of him, empty-handed. "Where's your sword?" A few of the campers snickered. "If you don't have one, you can go grab one from the rack over there." He pointed to the nice display of weapons to the group's left.

Riker yawned. "None of 'em feel right. Besides, I don't need those ones. I've got one." Here, he slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out the pen he'd, ah,  _liberated_ , from Chiron back on the field-trip.

The class broke out into laughter, several of the younger campers pointing at him and jeering loudly. "A pen?! What are you gonna do, draw a mustache on him?"

"Write an essay?!"

"Ha!"

"You wouldn't even be able to—"

 _Click_.

They all fell silent as Riker tapped the end of the pen—which was a bit strange, since he'd been quite certain the thing had had a  _cap_  when he'd first used it—and a three foot long, gleaming bronze weaponed morphed from the pen in his hand. The hilt was as comfortable as ever, and he gripped it with certainty. He guessed it weighed about five-pounds and it was balanced a hell of a lot better than any of his weapons back at the apartment in his closet.

He blinked. Oh, gods. He hoped to god—well, Chaos, then—that Gabe hadn't gone into his room. If he had, then Riker would be entitled to rip him an  _entirely_  new one...

He looked back up, and fought down a smirk. Luke had subconsciously fallen into a defensive stance as he examined the sure hold Riker had on the sword. "Celestial bronze? Where'd you get that?" He asked warily.

Riker hummed. "A certain Latin teacher."

They looked at him strangely, but decided against commenting. Luke drew back his own weapon and took in a breath. "Alright," he decided. "So you look like you actually know what you're doing here."

At Riker's curt nod, he continued. "So I guess we can skip the complete basic and move on to a more difficult move." Riker tensed at the sudden glint in the teen's eye, and felt his muscles instinctively tense up.

"A move like..." Luke trailed off, eyes snapping up to meet Riker's. The two opponents were frozen, facing one another and the campers around them didn't dare talk,-they barely breathed at the sudden atmosphere. Luke's legs tenses, and Riker subtly fell into a defensive position to catch an oncoming strike, knowing what Luke was about to do.

"—this!" The blond suddenly, like lightning, surge forward and brought up his sword in a backward swing, only to bring it forward with deadly accuracy. Riker's eyes narrowed as he brought up his own weapon just in time to meet the oncoming blade. A loud clang sounded, and the Jackson's ear twitched. Suddenly, no one was there but Luke. And the blades.

Luke pulled back with a concentrated look on his face, blond brows furrowed. He brought his sword up in the other direction with a sure swing, but Riker was there immediately, blocking his blade and stopping the sword from getting a score on his own hilt. Luke gained an small frown of slight irritation and Riker held back a humph. So maybe the guy was secretly a sore loser?

Riker parried Luke's next blow with an upward thrust and made a quick step backward, examining his opponent. In the next few blocks, he realized which move Luke wished to demonstrate, and smiled. He stepped up to Luke and started to bear down on him with more force. A look of surprise flitted across Luke's face at the new attitude but it was quickly sealed behind the teen's iron wall of defense and Luke smiled, realizing that Riker understood. With a grunt, they broke apart and sized one another up, before falling back into a series of parried blows until they were at another standstill, blades trembling against one another. They looked up at the same time before breaking apart once again, and Riker sent Luke a nod. It was going to happen this next round.

This time, when their blades met, Riker moved his own down a little more towards Luke's sword's hilt instead of going at overpowering him straightforwardly. He gave his own weapon a deft twist and thrust downward. Sure enough, despite Luke's admirable strength at keeping a hold of his weapon, the blade went skidding across the dirt floor.

Riker huffed, a triumphant smirk upon his face as he stared into Luke's equally satisfied eyes. The other teen was just as enamored with the recent spar as he was, despite his loss. The rest of the campers were completely silent.

Luke spun around with a grin. "And  _that_ , students, is how to successfully pull off the disarming maneuver! Well," he added, rubbing the back of his head as the adrenaline levels dropped, " _one_  of them."

The class murmured amongst each other while Luke turned back and came over to slap a hand to Riker's back, grin still in place. "That was fun. Most of the campers aren't up to my level, so I haven't had such a spar in, well, ever. Not since Chiron taught me."

Riker only smirked up at him and twirled his own blade in his hand. He found the 'switch' at the butt of the hilt and tapped it a certain amount of time. The sword shrank back down to it's pen form. The others watched it with quiet curiosity.

"Spar again sometime?" Luke sounded hopeful.

"Sure." Who was Riker to deny him a good fight?

**Ω Δ Σ**

Riker crossed his arms around his legs and pressed his forehead to his knees. He sat at the edge of the dock that saw out over the lake. He seemed to come here a lot, now that he thought about it, to either help the naiads around the house, tip canoes or swim a little. That feeling of weightlessness that the water presented, and he couldn't stay away for long. It was like his habit of chewing ice.

A habit. Yeah, it was just a habit.

He squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a deep breath. Something felt empty. Somewhere in his torso. His chest—no. Not his chest. His chest was  _fine_. His stomach. He was hungry.

Liberate some food from the kitchen area? But dinner wasn't for another few hours, and they wouldn't be cooking anything.

Go find some nymphs to make him a snack? They loved him to pieces, they gave him food all the time if he asked nicely.

But... He wasn't hungry. His chest felt empty. Not his stomach. He'd just had lunch, hadn't he?

No, that was two hours ago. He was hungry again. His chest was fine.

With a drawn-upon sigh, Riker stood himself up and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his cargo pants. Today had been a little chilly, so he had his red wife-beater under his mesh today, and a nondescript black hoodie instead of his leather jacket. He'd considered putting his combat boots on, but had felt lazy and hadn't wanted to spend time lacing them up. He could have slipped on the pair with zippers instead, but he'd gone for his black basketball shoes in the end.

As he stepped off the dock, he reached on hand back to flip his hood up before shoving it back in his pockets and made his way over to the edge of the forest. He didn't see the naiads surface in the water of the lake behind him and stare after him with worried expressions.

He entered the woods and came up to a random Juniper tree. Sitting down at it's base, he resumed his earlier position and rested his head on his knees, eyes suddenly heavy. What, was he sleepy now? He thought he was hungry. He closed his eyes, before slowly shaking his head against his knees and opening them again, with some effort. He couldn't fall asleep in the woods. There were things out there. Things that were much hungrier than Riker was, and had Riker flesh-programmed taste buds.

"Riker?" A gentle voice spoke from above him worriedly. "Are you okay?"

One of the nymphs, then. Probably the one tied to the tree he was leaning against. He took in another deep breath and blinked his eyes a few time—what, was he sick or something. "N-yeah. 'M fine."

He heard some rustling, and then silence again. The nymph had probably left, back in her tree or something. He sighed, closing his eyes again. They were stinging a little at the corners, like they did when he stayed up for movie marathons—but that didn't make sense. He'd slept soundly the night before, why was he tired now?

"Riker?"

He blinked. Who was that...? He lifted his head up. "...Goat-boy?"

Grover scowled. "You said that if I stopped calling you Percy, you'd stop calling me  _that_."

Riker stared at him, then rolled his eyes. "Right. Sorry..."

Grover nodded.

"...Mr. Tumnus."

The satyr bristled in annoyance. "You're doing that just to annoy me, aren't you?"

"Ah. See,  _now_  you're learning."

Grover let out a sigh and waved the worried nymph away before flopping down next to him. Riker stared at him from half-lidded eyes, before letting his head ball back down against his knees. Grover frowned in concern. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

He didn't look convinced. "Are you sure? 'Cause I can—"

"I said I'm  _fine_ , Grover." Riker snapped.

The satyr steered his eyes toward the ground quickly, looking away. He was still frowning, though.

Riker stilled, before letting out a short huff and hugging his knees tighter. "Ah, never mind. I didn't mean to bite your head off..."

Grover looked back up and stared at him thoughtfully. "You know, if you need to talk to someone, I'm always here."

Riker sucked in a breath, eyes widening only a fraction. He didn't think the satyr noticed. Riker's chest twinged with a deep, dulled pain.

The only people who'd ever said something along those lines to him were his mother, and his coach at the gym—Coach Leonardo, but everyone called him Sensei. He suddenly felt cold, alone, and way out of his depth.

Riker's eyes watered and he squeezed them shut. Grover saw  _that_ —and he leaned forward.

"You're not okay, are you?"

It wasn't a question.

Riker surged to his feet and took off into the woods, going deeper than he'd ever before. He didn't even touch his pocket to check if the pen/sword was still there—even though he knew by now it always returned. He just ran.

"Riker! Wait, where are you going?!"

The satyr called after him, but he didn't chase after him, and Riker was glad. He knew this feeling, the tightness in his chest—because it  _was_  his chest, he admitted—and the lump in his throat, the pull at his eyes. He didn't want anyone— _anyone_ —to see him cry. He never let anyone. Not even his mom had ever seen him cry, at least not past age four.

He eventually collapsed against a strange rock outcropping deep in the woods and brought his fists up to press into his eyes sockets, shaking, his body trembling. A soft sob escaped his throat before he bite it, and the rest, down in frustration. He was shaking like he was out in the cold without a jacket, trembling from the chills, like that night not too long ago, in that storm...

His head suddenly shot up, and this time the trembles were tainted with suppressed rage.

In the middle of summer, Long Island  _never_  got storms of that magnitude, and to just suddenly get one, practically aimed at him, at  _them_ , when they were...

A lightning bolt.

A storm too large for life.

He'd been struck by lightning,  _they'd_  been struck by lightning.

Fucking Zeus had fucking struck them with goddamn  _lightning_.

On  _purpose_.

He knew the man thought he'd stolen something of his, maybe, kind of, but to kill him? What was the King of the gods, a jackassed little kid throwing a fucking tantrum?

On the all, it was  _Zeus_ ' fault his mother was dead.

" _Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit..._ " He clutched his head, curling into a ball. " _Dammit, dammit, fucking_ _ **dammit**_ _..._ "

There was the crunching of leaves nearby and Riker fell silent. The sound paused, before footsteps became more hurried and someone dropped to their knees near Riker's shoulder. "Rike? Hey, hey, what the hell?  _What's wrong?_ "

Riker stiffened and blinked his eyes rapidly as he jerked his hands away from his face. Large, frowning, red-rimmed silver orbs stared up at the blond girl who knelt with a hand on his shoulder. Clarisse's eyes widened when she caught sight of her face, and she glared at a tree, slamming her fist into an open palm.

"Who did this? Why are you over here? Did something happen" She growled out, trembling. "I'll  _pulverize_  them, promise."

Riker sighed again and let his head drop. "It's nothing, 'Reese."

"Like hell it is. Don't  _lie_  to me."

"I'm fine."

"You're  _crying_."

"I'm  _not_  crying!" He twisted into a kneeling position to glare back at her, as her fierce look was now directed at him. "I  _don't_  cry."

Clarisse stared at him, before releasing a huff and flopping down under the outcropping next to him. "Right. Of course not."

Riker's eyes searched her very blank face for any sign of deceit. Apparently he didn't find any, since he relaxed and braced his hands behind his head, leaning against the stone. Clarisse let out a rough bark of a laugh, and pinned him with a dry smile. "Yeah. Neither do I. Okay."

She still wasn't very happy with how she'd found him, and Riker could see that. He shifted to his side to look at her, twirling his pen/weapon between his fingers for a moment, looking thoughtful. He suddenly smirked.

"Hey, so I was looking at the pen-dash-sword the other day, and notices something. Check this." He clicked the end of the writing utensil as she looked on curiously, and out sprouted the gleaming bronze sword that they expected. Except, this time Riker turned their attention toward the base of it, right above the hilt. He turned it in the light and showed her the flat of the blade.

"Look," he pointed out with a finger, other hand tightly gripping the handle. He slid the digit over the smooth surface of the sword until it encountered rougher terrain. "Greek letters."

Clarisse leaned in and squinted. "It says..." He looked up and met his blue-eyes stare. " _Anaklusmos_."

"Riptide."

She nodded, leaning back. "Is that the thing's name, then?"

"I'm guessing." He clicked the end of the weapon again and it shrunk back down. He looked up at the top of the rocky outcropping. "I mean, it sure as  _hell_  ain't the name of a past owner or whatever. Who the fuck would name their kid  _Riptide_?"

She snickered and elbowed him in the side, and they both fell into a scuffle, laughing. Riptide tumbled into the leaves, but Riker wasn't too worried. It would appear back in his pockets later.

Eventually they both fell down on their backs, panting. Their clothes were dusty with the dry dirt that lay under the mound of boulders, and their brows were slick with thin sheens of sweat from roughhousing too hard.

Riker looked over at her, the back of his head scraping against the ground. "Hey, you'd be an awesome sister."

She turned her head and grinned, a few clumps of dirt clinging to the back of her own hair. Riker wondered if his was that bad. "Thanks. I hope I can be, for real."

He nodded, looking back up at the sky. The few clouds that had been roaming it's vast expanses had vanished into fine transparent curtains and the horizon had turned a ripe shade of periwinkle. "Totally. Ares as my dad would be totally legit. You and the other Ares' kids are already like my siblings, so the only thing that would even change all that much is me moving in with you."

Clarisse laughed, arms wrapping around her stomach. "We already have a bunk with your name on it!" She kicked her legs up into the air and they watched a stray pebble go flying.

"Hmmm," Riker allowed a smirk to encompass his features. "I don't know. I'm beginning to like roofs. Very comfy. I might not be able to go back to such a measly example of a resting place..."

She reached over a hand to whack him, but it only flopped down useless onto his shoulder, the back of her knuckled hitting his collarbone. They' both exhausted themselves. Riker, and even Clarisse, had great endurance, but it was towards the end of the day already, and their twelve-year-old bodies could really only take so much.

"Hey, don't knock it 'til you check it out."

"I think it's "don't knock it 'til you've tried it," so that's a useless saying, really. I've already  _tried_  them."

"That's why I re-worded it!"  
He snorted. "A  _bunk_."

She giggled. "Shut up."

"For me," Riker batted his eyelashes with a grin. This time her hand hit it's intended target. His face.

"Ow!" He shoved her arm away. "Okay," he grinned. "It's a little late. Guess we've been out her for longer than I anticipated. What time is it?"

She looked at the sky. "Six."

"Really?"

"Ish." She shrugged, and sat up. He copied her, and they both pulled each other to their feet and dusted off their clothes. "We should head back now. It'll take at least half an hour to reach the cabins from Zeus' Fist, and Dinner's an hour after that." She stretched her arms above her head. "I need a shower."

"Zeus' Fist?"

She jabbed a thumb at the rock pile behind them. "They named that in honor of Thunderwear. I don't see why. It's just a pile of rocks."

Riker followed after her as she began to make her way toward the pathway that lead back to camp. "Are you kidding me? Who'd want a mound of pebbles named after them? Doesn't he already have a cabin, too? How many things does he need 'in his honor'?"

She spun around and braced her hand behind her head, facing him while they walked. "Don't know. He's got a bit of an inflated ego, if you ask me."

Riker snorted. "That's for certain. 'Hey. See that pile of rocks over there? Yeah, they named that after me,' isn't gonna work when he's trying to pick up chicks."

She chuckled and punched him in the shoulder. He rubbed it and looked back at her with a rueful grin.

"Oh!" She said, turning forward again when he'd passed and began to walk ahead. She quickened her pace to match his and gave him a sidelong glance. "You know that satyr that lead you to camp? What's his name..."

"Goat boy?" Riker raised an eyebrow, and she smirked.

"Yeah, him. Greg or something. No, Grover. Like from Sesame Street."

Riker cackled.

"Anyway, guess what happened!"

It was Riker's turn to walk backward, and he crossed his arms. "Yeah?"

"So, he really wanted to get a searchers license, but when he failed in bringing you here safely, he lost his chances at his career in looking for the lost god, Pan—that's what the searcher's license it for—and now he can't leave camp on quests with demigods either, seeing as you were his second chance and all."

Riker raised an eyebrow, ignoring that slightly guilty feeling inside his chest. His stalker was locked inside this property now, slightly because of him. But it was only slightly, mostly the satyr's fault, so Riker pushed the thought away. "Aw, no more field-trips for Grover?"

She nodded slowly, distracted by a dragonfly buzzing in her ear. "Uh-huh. And now that he's not in the running for a license, Mr. D'll probably put him on  _stable-cleaning_  duty, or something." She laughed. "Y'know, for the Pegasi and whatever else they've got in there."

Riker stared at her, wide-eyed, before he clutched his stomach and laughed. "Seriously? Well, I guess. The goat-boys are like, what, the janitor team of this place?"

"Technically," she said, after considering the idea with a grin. "But don't let them hear you say that! They can really keep grudges, and the revenge isn't anything pretty. Your satyr probably wouldn't do anything, but there's some ones with a real nasty temper out there."

Riker grinned. "Careful. You almost pushed them into the "Dangerous Creatures" category."

She scoffed. "As if."

They walked further along the path, trading jeers and teasing back and forth at each other. They were about halfway back to camp when a voice called out from ahead of them. They paused their banter and looked up to see Jesse running toward them, waving a hand in the air. "Hey! You guys, I've been looking everywhere for you! Where've you been?"

"Zeus' Fist," Clarisse shot back, grabbing Riker's arm as they raced up to meet him halfway.

He looked surprised. "That far out?"

Riker saw Clarisse flash a glance in his direction, and nodded. "Yeah, he told the bouncing child of Ares. "I just needed some time alone, but I guess this girl couldn't leave me alone."

Jesse snickered with a hand over his grin while Clarisse scowled good-naturally and punched Riker in the shoulder. "Hey, it's not like a stalk you!" She defended.

"Nah, " Riker agreed. "That's Goat-boys job."

The three friends laughed as they made their way out of the woods. Riker didn't even realize that the tightness in his chest had vanished until they had to head to dinner. He caught himself rubbing his diaphragm, and grinned at the blond and the redhead scuffling around him as they walked, Clarisse holding Jesse in a headlock and Jesse kicking his feet back in an attempt to trip her. He didn't feel so home-sick anymore.

Not that he'd ever admit he had in the first place.

**Ω Δ Σ**


	9. Badasses vs Nerds

_Normally, I was all for a competitive game such as capture the flag, especially one of this magnitude._

_But I have to be honest with myself._

_I really doubt I was prepared for what happened towards the end._

_Still, hellhounds would be an interesting addition to the challenge._

**Chapter Nine**

That night after dinner, there certainly was an almost tangible excitement in the air. Riker knew why that was, of course, but he still had to scoff at it, just a little, if only to himself. It was just a game of Capture the Flag. Epic, he'd heard, but most of these campers had played hundreds of times before. It was every Friday, after all.

Clarisse nudged him from where she was sitting to his right, even as she stuffed a leg of chicken into her mouth. He raised an eyebrow and she swallowed the bite before giving him a  _look_. "Don't be like that, yeah? Capture the Flag nights is really the only time we're allowed to just let loose and be ourselves aside from the arena classes. For Ares Cabin, at least."

Jesse, who sat at his left, looked over mid-sip from his glass of root beer. He gulped it down, thumped the cup next to his plate and dragged his sleeve across his upper lip before nodding.

"Capture the Flag at the Camp is so much more than those lame gym games they have in the mortal world." He added. "I mean, you don't get to use sword and attempt to maim the other team back in school."

"We might not be Athena cabin," Matt piped up from a few seats down, "but it's a fun thing to do, setting up traps for the other team to fall into, strategically."

"So speaketh Ares Cabin's resident nerd," Clarisse joked, and a few of the other campers who'd been absentmindedly listening in as thy ate laughed.

Riker glanced around just in time to catch a few looks aimed at Ares table from the other campers. He even thought he saw Chiron peek over in bemusement from time to time. What was their problem?

He shook his head an turned to Clarisse with a smirk. "And winning has some sick prizes, I've heard. Cold showers aren't so bad, in my opinion," he ignored the mock gasps of horror from a few of his new friends. "But every now and then a hot shower has to hit the spot, am I right?"

Jesse raised a fist and Riker snickered, bumping it with his own.

There was a loud tinkering sound from the head table, and the mess hall quieted down as everyone turned their attention to Chiron, who stood in all his horse-ass glory, tall and proud and tapping his glass with a spoon.

When he saw that everyone's eyes were to the front, he set the utensil and cup down on the table and cleared his throat. "Good evening, campers. Once again it's that time of week. You're favorite day, I know. Friday has come, finally, and I'm sure you're all very eager to get the game running—" He raised his voice as the teens and children seated around the tables began roaring in approval. "—Bit first, allow me to introduce this weeks teams!"

The campers screamed and cheered as two teens came running into the pavilion bearing a silk banner with the coloring and sacred animal of the Athena cabin. Riker squinted enough to see that Annabeth was one of them, along with what looked like the Apollo Cabin leader, a guy named Jordan. Riker didn't mind Jordan. Jordan was cool.

And from the opposite end of the pavilion the Ares Cabin second-in-command, Orion—he was a rather tall guy, age fifteen, with messy black hair, pale skin and green eyes— and the Hephaestus cabin leader, Charles Beckendorf, ran in with a blood red banner of identical size bearing the head of a boar, and Ares table plus Riker decided to show everyone up. They stood and roared, screaming in support and excitement. Riker high-fived Jesse with a whoop. Clarisse grinned and grabbed her sister Michaela in a head lock. Riker had asked why she wasn't running the flag in, being the Cabin leader, but she said she and Orion took turns and she'd ran it in last time Ares cabin lead a team.

Jesse leaned over and grabbed his head, shaking it roughly from side to side with a grin as Riker whacked him back in the gut, before talking in his ear. "Cabins Athena and Ares don't always lead the teams, but we usually do. We're the best at 'war,' after all."

"And the flags, when another team does win?" Riker yelled back over the noise of the crowd. "I assume some magic happens and they change color and design in honor of the winners, yeah?"

"Right in one!"

"Who's all on our side?" He asked.

Jesse grinned, almost evilly. "Ares Cabin has allied itself with Cabins Dionysus, Hephaestus, Demeter and Aphrodite, though the beauty queens are practically useless." He sighed, morose."

"They sit on the side and look at their reflections?" Riker asked, sympathetically.

"They say the helmets will give them helmet-hair and that the armor is like a  _sweat_ -house." The redhead groaned.

Riker shrugged and looked back at the bouncing Athena campers. "So they've got Cabins Hermes and Apollo?"

Clarisse plopped back down next to him as Chiron began to call for quiet and nodded. "Yeah. Apparently privileges like shower times and best slots for activities were traded in order for the nerds to gain support." She snickered. "They had to bribe them! Funny, huh? Anyway, Hermes and Apollo are two of the biggest Cabins, so that means the teams are pretty even in numbers this time. And Hermes Cabin is full of thieves and tricksters, so watch out for that. Athena Cabin's smart, and Apollo Cabin's got good long-ranged fighters."

"But we're Ares Cabin," Jesse added in with a grin. "We're all about fighting to win. And paired with Hephaestus Cabin—they're awesome at improvising in quick situations ad they've got all the best weapons—and Demeter..." he paused.

Clarisse took back the soapbox. "Demeter Cabin's mainly here for the extra man-power. Foot soldiers, really. But they're good with chemicals, surprisingly. They've got a greenhouse of special plants reserved for the Flag Games, but no one really knows about that," she winked and the two boys laughed. "They're not allowed to use any of the harmful poisons on fellow campers or any of the Camp residents, but they are permitted use of the paralytic-tipped arrows they make in their spare time."

Jesse and Riker shared an awes look. "Hidden vipers," Jesse smirked. "Never knew the garden club had it in them!"

"So Team Athena out numbers us at least three to two, but we've got better arsenal and Ares Cabin isn't too shabby with strategy either. I'd say we're pretty evenly matched." Riker summed up, then he grinned. "Plus, you've got me!"

Clarisse socked him in the shoulder. "You, who's supposed to be with Hermes Cabin, which is technically your own." She wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of her eyes. "Look at you, turnign traitor just for us. I'm touched!"

Riker caught her in a headlock of his own and sent his knuckles into her skull. She squirmed in his hold and yelped. Jesse leaned back against the table.

"I still can't believe you convinced Mr. D to let you be on our team. The satyrs are right, you're his favorite, aren't you?" the redhead inquired.

"Nah," Riker released Clarisse and fell down on the bench next to him. "The twins are his favorite, without a doubt. They're his kids, after all. He gets this softie look on his face whenever he deals with them." At their incredulous faces, he laughed. "He thinks he's good at hiding it, but I still see. No matter." he tapped his temple with a raised eyebrow.

Finally, Chiron got tired of meaninglessly banging his spoon against his glass—his fingers were twitching and the glass looked as if it might shatter any second now—so he stomped his hooves on the deck that held the head table separate from the campers. The screaming conversations that filled the pavilion hushed to a lower volume, but the murmuring was still there.

"You know the rules, everyone," He announced. The creek is the boundary line, which means the entire forest is fair game. All magical items are allowed—" Clarisse jabbed Riker in the side. "That means you can use Riptide!" She hissed. "—and both banners must be prominently displayed and guarded by only two guards each." Which got Riker thinking... "Prisoners may be disarmed, but  _may not be bound or gagged_ —" The was a story there, he just  _knew_  it— "No killing or maiming is allowed. I will stand as referee and battlefield medic. Arm yourselves!"

He spread his arms out, and Riker nearly had a seizer out of pure joy when, suddenly, the tables were filled to the brim with weapons and armor before his very eyes.

"I'll like to  _live_  here, I think" he announced, and Clarisse and Jesse snickered. "Think I can be one of the year-rounders?"

He very distinctly told his mind to stray away from the reason why he really  _didn't have anywhere else to go_.

As Riker fitted himself with a set of armor, Orion headed over and held a planning session with Clarisse. He and Jesse leaned over to listen in.

"—and we've got a few of the Demeter campers paired up with two of the Hephaestus campers on border patrol," Orion was saying. "I'm pretty sure I've got the guarding of the flag covered—Beckendorf said he'd partner up with me, so that's the two guards we're allowed."

Clarisse nodded. "Wish we were allowed more guards. Even three guards are better, but four would be perfect. "She grunted, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Alright, you and Beckendorf take guard. I've got three teams of four headed out to scout around and see if they can't take some prisoners—mixed campers, two of each cabin, unless I added in a Hephaestus camper. Then there'd be one from each, but two from Demeter since they have the most members. But that still leaves us with six left over since Demeter Cabin has an odd number of campers."

orion looked over at her. "You still taking point?"

Jesse slung an arm over Clarisse's shoulder and grinned. "Hades yeah. She's got me, Matt, and Rike with her."

Riker heard his name and stepped in closer as he tested the weight of a shield on his left forearm. "What are we doing?"

"We're going in to find and retrieve Team Nerd's banner." Matt explained from where he was standing next to Orion. "When the conch horn sounds to start the game, we'll be going straight in and snatch it from right out under their guards' noses!"

"Except with, you know, an actual plan of strategy." Clarisse butted in. "Ambush style." She leaned over and mock-whispered. "That's Matt for ya. Not too strategic, him."

"Hey!" The brunette hollered, but the others were too busy laughing.

Soon enough, though, Riker calmed ad then pinned Orion with a look. "Anyway, I was thinking, and I think I may have come up with a loophole around the whole two-guards-only" rule with the flag."

The other grew interested, and, after glancing around, leaning in closer to hear what he had to say.

"Two guards only for the flag, but I'm thinking we can put on at least two team of three to guard said guards. It'll give us a way to use the left over six, and also have the flag more protected. Just set the teams up at a few checkpoints close to the flag and have them circle around it."

Orion grabbed Riker and brought him into a noogie. He shouted and struggled out of the hold but Jesse just grabbed him in a bear hug and messed his hair up again. Clarisse was grinning as she high fives Matt. "Look at us and our genius, here. We'll take this game by storm!"

**Ω Δ Σ**

As soon as the conch horn blew, signaling the start of the game, Riker and his squad raced into the woods like a small herd of deer and disappeared into enemy territory. And Riker, really, had to be honest. This rush was more thrilling than he'd thought it would be.

They sneaked past a couple of the other teams scouting teams, which wasn't too hard. The Stolls from Cabin Eleven were together—which idiot thought that would be a good idea?—and the other members of the scouting team were so distracted by their antics that he and his friends just walked right past them.

Once, as they doubled back over the creek to avoid running into a guard party, he thought he'd heard a low growling sound, and a dark shape flit past his peripheral vision, but the presence left a second later. He pushed the thought of something following him to the back of his mind but made sure to keep an eye out. Maybe the other team had a pet.

Then, just as they were coming off a familiar path that Riker recognized from earlier that day—he shared a small, fond smile with Clarisse but they both wiped the looks off their faces an instant later—another, entirely different shape caught his eye, and he froze.

"Guys!" He tried getting the others attention.

"Riker, wha—" Jesse started to ask, but Riker cut him off with a hiss.

"Shh! Look," he raised a hand and pointed at the clearing to their left, also familiar from that afternoon. The others leaned in to follow his finger, then stilled. Then, grins were exchanged, and they sneaked into the shadows that the rock-pile known as Zeus' Fist was casting.

And sidled up right around to the opposite side, where Team Athena's banner was flying.

Riker peeked around and saw one of the guards a few meters to their left. He glanced over to their right and saw the other one stringing a bow. A discarded broken string lay at his feet. An Apollo camper, then.

He narrowed his eyes at the Hermes camper who was leaning against a tree, eyes focused on something to the north.

He grinned. Perfect. Their territory was to the south.

"Kay," he motioned for the others to huddle close, then spoke up again in a hushed breath. "I've got a plan. That okay with Miss Commander?"

Clarisse blinked, lifted her head to look when they heard the Apollo camper curse—apparently he was having trouble with his bow—and nodded.

Riker nodded back. "Okay. So Matt, you're the fastest of us, but Jesse's quieter. Jesse, I want you to sneak over and grab the banner— _make absolutely no noise_ —and then, sneak over to the tree line, where the rest of us will be waiting. Once we get about three meters out, hand the banner off to Matt." Jesse nodded.

Riker turned to the brunette. "Matt, when Jesse gives you the banner, I want you to run as fast as you can to our side, don't even look back, just don't get caught, okay? Me and the others will be right behind you and fend of any attacks that come to the best of our abilities." Matt's facer grew determined. He was the youngest of the group and Riker knew he sometimes felt useless. The boy nodded.

Riker held out a fist to Clarisse, who bumped it with her own.

"'Reese, you and I are on guard duty." He winked, then glanced over at the guards. The Apollo camper was cursing up a storm and the Hermes camper had wandered over to see what was wrong, and was in the middle of a pretty impressive, yet sassy, eye-roll. Seemed like only girls could pull that look off.

He nodded at Jesse and motioned for his two friends to follow him toward the tree line to hide in the underbrush while his remaining team member stealthily shimmied his way over to the flag. Riker prayed that the two guard remained distracted, though he couldn't understand how a tiny little bowstring could cause so much frustration.

They didn't have to wait very long. Riker glanced up from where he was crouching behind a bush next to Matt, when a hand touched his shoulder. Jesse stood there with the flag bundled tightly in his arms. He motioned for Matt and Clarisse to stand, and th group silently made their way further into the trees. As they were nearing three meters away, Jesse un-waded the banner and folder it three times, just enough so the rules wouldn't be broken, yet the other team would have a difficult time seeing which of them held it.

Then, Riker gently pushed Matt on the back, and the brunette took off like a shot. The Jackson spared one last look toward the guards, who were just sorting out whatever problem the bow had, and then raced after his friends, close on Matt's heels.

He was a bit surprised. They'd made it to at least halfway back to their side and to victory when they ran into the first sign of an attack. A group of seven campers, from each cabin that was allied with Team Athena, shouted out and began to give chase when they realized that the silvery thing in Matt's skinny arms was indeed their banner. A few arrows whizzed by their helmeted heads, but Riker clicked Riptide into existence and raised it to deflect most of them. One did get through and snagged in his chain mail, but it was more of an annoyance. Might cause a bruise on his collarbone later on, though. He'd dealt with worse, like broken bones.

He kept his attention on the area around Matt, making sure he didn't accidental run right into one of the Hermes Cabin famous traps, the eleven-year-old was pretty good at avoiding them. It was funny, however, when the team of campers chasing them fell into one they'd just cleared. Especially since they were being lead by a Hermes camper. Riker saved his laughter for once the game was over, because that was totally worth glancing behind to see.

As they kicked their way across the stream to victory, the enemy right on their heels like rabid dogs, the slight sting that the arrow had caused him suddenly vanished. It was as if the arrow had never hit him. He frowned. That wasn't a good sign, not if it was what he thought it was.

But he didn't stay on that line of thought, because—behold, the conch horn blew three times, signaling the end of the game, and victory.

They'd won.

Matt tossed the shimmering banner over the whooping Jesse's head as it slowly but surely turned from the shiny silver it was to a blood red. Clarisse pumped her fist into the air and screamed, and Orion came dashing out of the forest just in time to bowl his sister over in a enthusiastic bear hug. Matt came hopping over and high-fives Riker before pulling him into a man-hug. But Riker felt good. Matt had won the game. Matt must be really happy. Riker had watched Matt since he'd became friends with the energetic younger boy, and he knew Matt had needed something like this. His ego was next to nothing but vapors.

And that just wouldn't do for a child of Ares.

The entire side of Team Ares had exploded into cheers and Jesse with parading the banner around with Orion holding the other end. Riker shared a grin with Clarisse, before they simultaneous swooped over and hauled a surprised Matt onto their shoulders, shouting, "Champion Matt! He's our winner!"

A few others joined them in an effort to keep an ecstatic Matt up in the air, picking up the cheer. Charles Beckendorf came over with a knowing smile and grabbed him, raising him even higher. Every cheered, screaming, laughing.

Riker glanced over and saw Annabeth grouped together with the downtrodden members of her team, looking down, morose even. Luke stood off the the side, an awkward expression on his face and glancing everywhere but her or Riker, like he didn't know what to say. The blond was probably disappointed they hadn't fallen for her trick with the border guards she's stationed. It had been an ingenious plan, really, but Riker had encountered such a move back when his gym friends had gone through a phase of strategy games, and he's vowed to never fall for it again.

Jeez, that had been  _embarrassing_.

"hey!" Clarisse called, and he watched as she edged her way through the mingling and joyous camper to his side. "You okay? I saw that arrow his—you're gonna have a nasty bruise tomorrow morning."

"Actually," Riker bit his lip. He hadn't wanted to think a out that. "No, it doesn't hurt. It's not even numb or anything, and I checked. Look—" He pulled down the collar of his chain mail and the shirt underneath. "There isn't even a mark."

The blond girl stared, frowning. "Weird," Clarisse mumbled, narrowing her eyes. "That's... I don't know. Maybe..." She looked up and shared a look with him. "You should ask Chiron. Maybe he'll know. Cuz there ain't any way that arrow  _couldn't_  have left a mark."

he nodded in agreement. "I was going to , actually. It kinda makes sense, but I don't want it to." She cast him a confused look, but he just waved it away. "C'mon. Let's go see Chiron."

The centaur had galloped his way top the clearing and was speaking with Orion and Annabeth, the two team leaders—or Co-leader, in Orion's case. Clarisse followed slowly after Riker, who made his way over and thumped Chiron's flank with a loosely held fist. The centaur looked down at him. "Do you need something, Mr. Jackson?"

Riker opened his mouth, but Clarisse had finally gotten close enough to speak without yelling and beat him to the point. "Chiron! Riker got hit with an arrow, but the wound disappeared!"

Now he had Chiron's attention, and Orion and Annabeth. The daughter of Athena looked extremely, almost painfully, curious. "What's this?" The horse-man asked. "Riker?"

He shrugged. "It just vanished. We were running through the creek to get to our side, Matt had the banner and we were following him, he's the fastest. But then it was gone by the time we got to our side. Like..." He trailed off, but Orion's eyes widened.

"Like the creek just... washed it away." The teen breathed, and Riker shrugged helplessly. He'd actually been hoping they wouldn't make the connection like he had. Water like this, mainly oceans but lakes and rivers and creeks would work too—were in league with his least favorite god besides Zeus.

"This is... most disconcerting." Chiron mumbled under his breath, before looking up and locking gaze with a nervous Riker. "Mr. Jackson, has this happened before?"

Four pairs of eyes penetrated into him .and Riker shifted on his feet, looking down at the ground."

That memory hadn't been a good one.

After all, it had been the very last night Riker had  _ever_  left himself unguarded around Gabe, the fucker.

His mind sifted back through memories that had been collected years ago. Of a late night in detention at school, of coming back the the apartment altogether exhausted and ready to just go to bed and never weak up. The realization his mother was working the night shift that night and he's be stuck dealing with that slime. Of the only time Gabe ever overpowered him with is all-fat-very-little-muscle arms. Of a filthy, sweaty fist crashing into his temple. The coolness of the water and how it ran over his skin as he washed the cut in his face. Thinking hard on how he'd hide  _this_  from his mom; he didn't want to worry her more than she already was with work, but she was observant.

The water, how it slithered up his cheeks and gathered around the cut.

The memory of no cut for his mother to see the next morning.

"Riker?" Chiron touched his shoulder, and the raven-haired teen shook his head, shaking the recollection away. "Ah, yeah." He shrugged. "Once or twice..."

They stared at him for a moment, but everyones attention was stolen that moment when a loud, ear-splitting howl echoed through the forest and any and all noise and cheering died instantly.

Riker would have almost been relieved, if it hadn't been for what came next.  _All_  of what came next.

Chiron let out a shout in Ancient Greek, and Riker had only half a mind to instantly translate it. " _My bow! Ready yourselves!_ "

Clarisse pulled her spear from off her back—Riker hadn't seen her use it, yet—and Orion tapped his armband, which grew into a square shield.

Riker looked up to the ledge directly across the creek from them, and saw what all the fuss was about.

There, on the ledge, was a hound with fur black as the darkest night, sitting on it's hunches, red eye glittering like daggers and—

Staring directly at Riker.

"Riker, move!" A few voices, at least five, chimes in together. Everyone else was frozen.

The hound pounced, but Riker waited. It was kinda like with the Minotaur, he thought, as the over-sized dog sailed toward him. He pivoted to the side and clicked Riptide into view again, leaning back toward the side and the hound continued in it's path.

It was airborne. Nothing to push off of. No force to cancel it's own out.

Therefore, like the Minotaur, it wouldn't be able to stop.

Everyone stood still, as Riptide slide neatly into the chest cavity of the hellhound, between two of it's left ribs. It fell to the ground with a sickening thump, and Riker had to jump back so it didn't and on his toes.

No one made a sound, until Chiron chose to trot over to him, face grim.

"Th-that was a hellhound from the Fields of Punishment." Annabeth spluttered once she regained her senses. "It's not, it wasn't supposed to..."

"Someone inside the camp would have to summon something like that for it to get through the wards," Orion muttered lowly, almost a growl, but in the silence everyone heard him.

They all watched as the hellhound dispersed into shadows and sunk into the ground—going back to where it came form, Riker guessed. He stayed still for a moment longer, then turned to Chiron and opened his mouth.

But the face of the centaur stopped him from saying anything. Wide eyes with tight lips. He glanced around and suddenly realized everyone was staring at him, and that the entire clearing was reflecting the light of a flickering campfire—even though there were no flames around.

Even Clarisse, Jesse and the other Ares campers were staring. They too looked shocked, but Riker saw some of their faces held something akin to disappointment.

"Looks like your not our brother after all," Clarisse sighed. She kicked a rock over with her toe. "That sucks."

Riker blinked, then slowly lifted his head to look above him.

And there, already fading, was the hologram of a pitchfork.

No. Something even worse.

A trident.

Riker groaned as Chiron began to introduce him as So of the Sea God, and all the campers began to kneel in order to 'hail' him.

"Dammit!"

**Ω Δ Σ**


	10. Rylocke Holmeson

_Chiron tried to get me into Cabin three, he really did._

_And I commend his ability to strive toward a hopeless goal without faltering._

_He's one stubborn mule. And only half literally!_

_Anyway, my camp reputation, which had already been a bit high due to my defeat of the Minotaur, hit the ceiling when everyone actually witnessed me killing the hellhound._

_I don't see why it's such a big deal. I barely even did anything..._

**Chapter Ten**

Being in your own cabin wasn't so bad, Riker thought. At least, looking at the pros. The cons, the cons were terrible. Loneliness, having no one to joke with in the middle of the night, no cabin mates to play pranks on like back in Cabin Eleven.

But the pros outweighed those. He didn't have to share anything with anybody, he called his own curfew—aside from the curfew that the harpies set, of course, but it wasn't like he ever listened to that one, and he sure as hell wasn't about to set limits on  _himself_. He still sat with Ares table during all meals—it was weird, according to the rest of the camp; Cabin Five seemed to have adopted the stray, single son of Poseidon, and were awfully protective of him. He even got to pick all his own activities, so there were no more forced-art lessons with the satyrs, thank the gods.

Nobody had  _actually_  mentioned the hellhound, but Riker wasn't stupid enough to think no ones was talking about it. He heard the whispers, behind his back. The attack had seemed to scare everyone, which Riker at first hadn't understood—really, the mutt hadn't even been all that strong. Still, once he thought about it, the politics behind the attack, or the mere existence of the hellhound  _behind_  the camp borders, was terrifying. He'd grilled Orion and Clarisse on everything they knew, and had found out that monsters couldn't—shouldn't be able to get inside the camp. Camp Half-Blood had long been considered one of the only absolute safe places in most of the campers lives. To see that one of their own would have had to summon the beast in—well, it didn't bode well for anyone.

Most of the campers in Hermes cabin were too nervous to have sword lessons with Riker, after seeing what he'd done to their siblings and the Apollo campers that had chased after Matt in the woods that night. So the slot in his activities schedule labeled "Sword Class" mainly just became a sparring session between Luke and him. Luke was pretty good himself, and pushed him as hard as he could go, unafraid to leave a mark behind, so Riker hadn't wanted to get rid of that time of his day. After their spars, Riker got down and dusty brawling with the Ares campers, since they held their wrestling hour in the arena after Luke and his cabin used it. When they were finished, it was always either an immediate shower—no matter what some may say, Ares campers secretly hated being dirty for prolonged periods of time, and Riker couldn't agree more—or they all ran down to the lake for a prompt cabin swim-party. Clarisse told him they'd never really don that before, ever. But everyone loved swimming with Riker. And he had fun aiming jets of water under people and shooting them five to ten feet into the air. The unscheduled swim partied at the lake were always a blast, and sometimes Cabins Hephaestus and Aphrodite found themselves joining in. Turned out, children of the Love goddess absolutely loved swimming. The reason being fondness of the actual sport or just being able to see their own reflections in the clear water remained unconfirmed.

Annabeth still met up with him to go over advanced Greek and Latin—at least, that's what the official documents said. Now, it was more him teaching her how to speak Japanese and Korean. He most like;y would have ditched that hour of activities, if not for the knowledge that the blonde would skin him alive in his bed and then chuck him off the roof to be devoured by harpies if he suddenly up and disappeared from their little get-togethers.

Aside from that, the Apollo campers seemed to blame him for their sudden archery class troubles. It wasn't like it was his fault that their bow string kept snapping. Their cabin was now officially "cursed," according to the Camp Cabin Magical Status list that hung nailed to a post just outside the dinning pavilion.

And there were two Hermes campers—the Stoll twins—that were caught up in some kind of prank war with him. He wasn't entirely sure how it started, but they were now casually pulling tricks on each other as easily as breathing, and Riker once even teamed up with Travis to get back at Connor for something that had gotten the two fighting. Connor then enlisted his help to prank back Travis, and he soon ended up being the middle man.

He was actually glad for them. They were a bit like most of the Ares kids; not treating him differently than they would anybody else, aside from their agreement not to prank him too extensively. But, ah well, he could do with some friend privileges here and there.

Another funny thing—it appeared that this "Mist" entity that Chiron had mentioned to him practically adored him. Most of the time, the centaur explained, the Mist made the demigod out to be the villain, but according to the newspaper, the mortals were under several different conspiracy theory-induced impressions that he was some kind of secret agent for the CIA, a government agent posing as an ex-pizza delivery guy, or a serial killer-hunter. The teen CIA agent/spy seemed to be the most popular story. The articles went on to say that the CIA neither confirmed nor denied any suspicions of the public, and that Little Caesars had not been available for comment.

He, Clarisse and Jesse had found it all very hilarious, and they'd spent the entire weekend laughing over the article.

His time spent at the camp so far, an enjoyable two weeks, had let Riker somewhat forget how exactly he'd come to be their, but he always remembered again, in his dreams. Flashes of gold light, his mom's disappearing, the Minotaur's moaning—it all came to the front of his mind when he slept, no matter how far back he'd pushed it during the day. It always came right back.

Until now. This dream, it had been different. Strange—though not as strange as the dream he'd first had when he'd just arrived at the camp. No, that was a different kind of crazy. This dream was about a horse fighting san eagle on the beach during a thunder storm. And apparently, the eagle had won. Or was about to, but Riker didn't get to see the verdict. He'd woken up before anything had happened.

But that's why he was here, now, sitting across from Chiron at the table in the big house. He'd been sleeping in his reserved bunk in Cabin Five, when he'd had the dream. A worried looking Jesse had shook him awake, when Grover the stalking satyr had knocked on the door and told him that Mr. D wanted to see him. Jesse and Clarisse were currently hiding under the window ledge, eavesdropping. Riker knew that they knew he was aware they were there, and Riker didn't mind. Chiron didn't seem to notice their presence anyway.

On the way up to the big house, everyone had seemed to be going on with their normal activities despite the enormous thunder storm gathering overhead, but the overall mood of the camp was tense and anxious, as if waiting for the strings that held all their lives in place to snap. When the two had arrived in the living room or the large, white mansion, Chiron and Mr. D, in all his leopard striped Hawaiian shirt glory, sat at the table. They'd been playing pinochle against invisible opponents. Riker was itching to request a game of his own. The cards just floated in the air!

"Well," the wine god had eventually sighed, folding his cards on the tabletop and looking up lazily. "Come on over and sit down, Jackson. And don't expect me to hail your presence just because old Barnacle Beard's your father."

Thunder rolled overhead, making Grover skittish, but the director just waved his hand. "Blah blah, blah."

Riker snickered and sat down, stretching. He shot the lazing middle-aged god a small smile. "Nice one. Me an' my friends have been calling him Spongebob, and such. He has a beard?"

A slow, sardonic grin spread across Mr. D's face.

"If I didn't enjoy you're wit so much," he warned, "I think I'd turn you into a dolphin and send you back to your father."

Riker only leaned back and braced his hand behind his head with a smug smile.

"But," the man sighed almost disappointedly. "There's another option. But it's damn foolish."

The other three—plus the two outside the window—watched as he stood up, and the invisible player's cards fell to the table. Game was over, Riker assumed. Damn, and he was hoping for a chance to play against them.

'I'm off to Olympus for the the emergency meeting." Dionysus announced, and Riker's gaze slide over to meet his. "If you're still here when I get back, I'm turning you into an Atlantic bottlenose. And if you're as sensible as I think you are, you'll find that a much more appealing option than what Chiron wants for you."

Riker watched, confused, as the god snapped his fingers, and disappeared, leaving a holographic after-image that melted away after a few moments.

Chiron sighed. "Sit down, Grover."

Riker raised an eyebrow from his already seated position, and the satyr let out a nervous bleat before cautiously taking the chair the camp director had just vacated, looking for all the world that Mr. D was about to come back and smite him for sitting in his chair.

Chiron leveled Riker with a stare. "Riker, tell me. What did you think of the hellhound?"

Riker blinked. "The mutt? It wasn't too difficult, I mean the Son of Pasiphae was more difficult, in my book, and he wasn't even that taxing—well," he amended, "if I hadn't had glass shards sticking out of my back. But the hellhound was more instinct than anything. Didn't take much."

Chiron examined his face closely, and Riker yawned. It as too early to be having serious discussions. "There are far worse out there than the hellhound, Mr. Jackson. Than the Minotaur even, though he is one of the more famous monsters." The centaur leaned back; he was in his wheelchair again today. Riker didn't see the point. No one would mind his horse half here, and the teen knew for a fact that the wheelchair was uncomfortable, the centaur himself had often complained about it. Why did Chiron feel the need to hide?

Riker cleared his throat. "'Pologies, sir, but why did you call me here?"

Chiron coughed uncomfortably. "Ah, that's the hard part. Quest details..."

Riker sat straight. "Quest?" He'd heard about Quests from Luke. His hadn't turned out so well, he'd said. That's where he'd gotten his cool-looking facial scar, he'd said. He glanced between the serious gaze of Chiron and the nervous stare of Grover, before sitting back in his chair and crossing his legs. "Ah. Zeus, and my undeserving-of-the-title father. They're fighting over something... something that was stolen, correct?"

Chiron and Grover exchanged glances, and Riker was glad they seemed too distracted to hear the shuffling Clarisse and Jesse were making outside under the window seal. Hadn't he commended Jesse on his _stealth_  abilities just the other week?

"How did you know that?" Chiron asked, bringing the raven's attention back to the matter at hand.

Riker blinked. "Weather's been weird since Christmas—the winter solstice. Thats when the god's like to meet up and have their family reunion, right? Annie-girl said something about a theft. I dreamed about a horse and an eagle fighting. It wasn't too hard to put the pieces together."

Chiron rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You really are smarter than I give you credit for, Mr. Jackson."

Riker smiled at him, cheekily.

"Nevertheless," the centaur went on, "you  _are_  correct. You're father and Zeus are, currently, in their worst quarrel in centuries. Zeus' lightning bolt is missing and he's blamed his brother for theft."

Riker scoffed. "That's completely retarded." He ignored their startled, nervous looks, and the sudden thunder that rang overhead. "God's can't steal other god's weapons of power. He should  _know_  that, he's their king!"

Chiron frowned in concern. "Riker, you shouldn't carelessly insult the god's so. They  _can_  hear you."

"That's the point, my dear centaur." Riker tilted his head. "So,  _who_  stole it?"

"You did."

Riker paused, blinking. "Ah—'scuse me?" He asked, sounding highly offended.

"At least—" Chiron quickly went on to explain. He should know better; such dramatics didn't work well with Riker Jackson. "That's what Zeus thinks. He and Poseidon had an argument during the last solstice meeting. Usual nonsense: "Mother Rhea always loved you best," "Air disasters are far more spectacular than sea disasters," et cetera."

"Wow." Riker deadpanned, slightly stunned. "Thats... so childish."

Chiron hummed and Grover bleated out a nervous laugh, glancing at the sky. "Afterwards, Zeus realized his master bolt was missing, gone, right out from under his nose. He immediately, of course, blamed Poseidon."

"Of course," Riker muttered.

"He believes you're father—"

"Not my dad." Riker objected, but Chiron only pinned him with a knowing stare.

"—convinced a human hero to take it for him. Zeus' reasons for suspicion aren't truly that far fetched, however. The Cyclopes forges are under the ocean, which gives Poseidon some influence over them—"

"Besides the fact that most of them are his children," Riker interjected, and Chiron held up a finger, consenting to his point.

"Zeus believes his brother has taken the master bolt and is having the Cyclopes build an arsenal of illegal copies, which might be used to topple his throne. The only thing Zeus wasn't sure about was the hero that Poseidon used to make the theft." Chiron leaned forward and steepled his fingers. "Now that Poseidon has claimed you as his son, Zeus believes he's found his thief."

"Since I was in New York when the theft happened." Riker mumbled. "Yeah, okay. Still seemed pretty far fetched to me. I mean, if Poseidon really  _was_  planing to overthrow Zeus, why would he make his plan so obvious? Zeus is just paranoid."

"Poseidon has tried to unseat Zeus before," Chiron pointed out.

"The golden net Hephaestus made," Riker acknowledged. "Poseidon, Hera and a few other gods got together and trapped Zeus in it. Wouldn't let him out until he promised on the Styx to be a better ruler. I fail to see how they think he's kept that promise. Styx promises don't mean much, anymore, seeing the god's break so many of their own."

Chiron ignored his mumbling and nodded. "Zeus hasn't trusted Poseidon since—"

"Probably never  _has_."

"Child..."

"Sorry."

Chiron sighed. "Poseidon denies any part of the master bolts theft, of course. Took great offense at the accusation, in fact. They've been arguing back and forth about it for months now."

Riker spoke up, "Theft doesn't seem like Poseidon's style. But he'd be too proud to try and convince Zeus that. How stupid."

"Zeus has demanded the return of his master bold by the summer solstice." Chiron told him. "That's June twenty-first, and Poseidon wants an apology for being called a thief by the same date. You're arrival has flamed Zeus' temper, and now nether of them will back down. Unless..."

"Unless someone breaks them up with hard, cold proof than one or the other is right." Riker interrupted. "Unless that lighting bold is found and returned to Thunderwear before the solstice."

"If not," Chiron agreed. "There will be war."

Riker let out a sigh and fell back in his chair. "How stupid," he repeated. It wasn't even nine and he was already tired again.

"What better peace offering than having the son of Poseidon return Zeus' master bolt to him?" Chiron said, and Riker let out a groan. "But, you must take up the quest, officially."

Riker sat back up and eyed him thoughtfully. "I have a feeling you don't mean I'll just be signing papers..." Chiron looked grim. "Right. So do I finally get to see what's in the attic, now? Luke kinda told me some stories," he added on to soothe their wary looks. "Nothing definite, but I know something up there has to do with quests. Visiting something."

Chiron let out a sigh. "Sometimes, I just don't know what to do with you, Mr. Jackson. You're different from any student I've taught." At Riker's proud grin, he rolled his brown eyes and began collecting the cards off the table. "You're required to seek out the Oracle of Delphi—who, yes, is kept in the attic—and obtain a prophecy having to do with your quest."

"Right," Riker hopped up, out of his chair. "Off I go."

But he was just stepping toward the stairs when he paused. "Ah... You keep the Oracle... in the attic?" He blinked.

They only stared at him. Grover bit his lip.

"I'm... "Riker swallowed. "Um, I'm guessing that... well..." He sighed. "Oracles dead, isn't it?"

Chiron gave a sad smile.

"Right," Riker blinked, squaring his shoulders. He suddenly didn't want to go into the attic. He was out of this house. He wanted to go home, because any place that kept corpses that tell the future—which would require them to  _talk_ —in their attic was  _not_  the place for him, and—

"Um... I'll just... go..."

He cautiously mounted the first two steps, before turning around with a last minute thought and shouted. "Jesse, 'Reese, you better be sitting at that table when I come down, ya hear?!" Then he sucked in a deep breath and took the stairs two at a time, ignoring the sudden exclamations that were sounding behind him.

"Mr. Wolfe," Chiron greeted. "Miss La'Rue. How nice of you to join us."

"Damn him," Clarisse hissed under her breath, glaring at the stairs. "He totally just sold us down the river!" Jesse stood next to the steaming girl, nervously glancing from the bottom of the stairs, to what he could see of the top of them; and where he had last seen Riker. Underneath their irritation, the two of them were anxious to see their friend come back down.

"Please, take a seat." The camp activities director motioned to the two empty seats, and they cautiously took them, Jesse lowering himself slowly into the chair Riker had been sitting in.

"May I ask why you two were eavesdropping on our conversation?" Chiron inquired pleasantly, but they could see the warning glint behind the kind brown orbs.

Jesse shifted, looking at his knees. "Um, Riker's our friend? No one ever gets called to the big house, usually, so we thought he was in trouble."

"And we were right." Clarisse nearly crooned. "A quest. He could  _die_! Do you remember what happened to Castellan?" She stood up and slammed her hands on the table, glowering over at Chiron, who was calmly shuffling a deck of cards. "You  _gotta_  let us go with him!  _We'll_  be his plus twos. Three on a quest anyways, right?"

The centaur suddenly looked very awkward. "Oh—erm, well. That's the—"

"Chiron, you can't!" A new voice shrieked, and the two Ares campers jumped out of their seats. They turned in unison to glare as Annabeth Chase shimmered into their view, pulling off her Yankee cap. She looked panicked. " _I'm_  the one he's suppose to go with!"

"You?" Clarisse sneered before Chiron could even open his mouth. "Why would he pick  _you_  to be on his quest team? You're not even his friend!"

Annabeth shifted on her feet nervously, clutching her cap in her fists. "I-I've been waiting since forever to go on a quest! Chiron had a prophecy that said I had to wait! For  _Riker_! It's my  _destiny_ ," she scowled. "If I don't go now I'll  _never_  get to see the outside world."

"That's not our problem," Jesse growled. "The fates dealt you a bad hand—that's too damn bad.  _We're_  going with him,  _we're_  his friend. Not you!"

They argued back and forth for a while more, Chiron sitting slumped in his seat, attention focused on his cards. Grover stood off the the side wringing his hands together with a crestfallen look on his face.

"I think," Chiron finally spoke up, and the campers quieted—but the two Ares siblings still wore glares on their faces. "That's it's really up to Riker to decide. The quest members are chosen by the quest leader, after all. That's how it's always been," he gave a stiff, hard-faced Annabeth an apologetic look.

"That how it works?" A voice asked from the doorway, and the group spun around to face Riker. He was looking at them, amused, but his face was slightly pale and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He bit his lip, on and off a few times—a nervous habit—before walking over and jumping up to sit on the table. "Ah," he gave a sigh. "It's obvious then. Jes and 'Reese will be coming with me."

The two Ares campers let out victorious yells and high fived each other as Grover slipped out the door. Annabeth's face was like steel. She was trembling and her knuckled were white and she squeezed her baseball hat in her hands.

Riker turned to her and blinked, as if just noticing her. "Sorry Annie-girl. Our language lessons will have to wait 'till I get back."

Annabeth let out a shuddering breath and shut her eyes tightly. She slapped her cap onto her head, and Riker's eyebrows shot up as she vanished from sight. The room was silent as the sound of pounding footsteps hurried out of the big house and down the path to the cabins.

Riker spun around the face the others. He looked confused. "What? What did I say?"

Chiron sighed, setting the cards back down on the table in a neat stack. "Annabeth was hoping to go on your quest with you. She's never been outside the camp, not since she was seven, what with being a year-rounder. I received a prophecy from the Oracle when she first asked to go on a quest herself. It told me she could not. Not until the right quest and camper came along. She was hoping now was the time." He rubbed his brow tiredly. "But, alas, it seems not to be."

Riker glanced out the window, which showed a good view of all twelve cabins, looking vaguely guilty. He bit his lip again and shook his head. "Ah well. Maybe next time."

"This is the first "next time" since Castellan's quest," Jesse mumbled. "And that was a few years ago. Chiron's never let us do quests since that one turned out so... um, badly."

Riker seemed to shrink in on himself a little, and Clarisse scowled, hitting Jesse on the shoulder. They stared at Riker with small frowns, but he didn't seem to notice.

"Well," Chiron cleared his throat. "What did the Oracle have to say?"

At the mention of the mention of the legacy of Apollo, Riker felt a shudder go through his form before he looked up and gulped. If he had one fear, it was corpses. He couldn't stand them. Well... not exactly corpses. He was fine with horror movies and the Walking Dead. But mummified corpses. Mummies. One scary movie too many when he was a small child and that was  _enough_. And not to mention what the thing had  _said_... or, the green smoke had said...

Riker took a breath. "Um," he cough, trying to smile. "It's—ah, it's a bit musty up there, ha..."

The teen sat back, realizing they were all staring at him, waiting for him to continue. "Um, okay. It said... I'll go west and face the god who has turned... I'll find what was stolen and see it returned...and," he frowned. "I'll be betrayed. By someone who I call a friend." Clarisse and Jesse suddenly looked very panicked, sharing a wide eyes look(looking at each other almost accusingly), then glanced back at Riker, who was staring at them. They looked hurt. Riker gave them a reassuring smile and shook his head, and they relaxed, slightly.

"Anything else?" Chiron prodded, and Riker sighed.

"Ah, yeah. It said I'll fail to save what matters most in the end. That last line makes me angry."

He studied Riker's face for a moment, before nodding. "I would assume so. But remember, Mr. Jackson, that the Oracle's words often have double meaning."

"Like a puzzle. It a riddle I've gotta figure out." Riker guessed. "It makes sense. It's not like the Fates to just give things away."

Chiron raised an eyebrow. "You would assume to know the Fates and their habits, young Mr. Jackson?"

"Not assuming," Riker smirked at him. "But, that's my secret. Maybe I'll tell you one day, Chiron."

The centaur chuckled, after a moment of silence. "You're quite the puzzle yourself, my boy. Very well. Maybe I'll riddle your out before you have the chance to tell me."

Riker grinned. "Challenge accepted."

Clarisse and Jesse looked warily from Chiron's Smirk to Riker's, and gulped.

"Now then," Chiron set the matter aside to get back to the topic, and the three demigods sat down at the table to listen; Riker took Grover's vacant seat, and briefly wondered where the satyr had gone, before focusing on Chiron's words. "Where will you go, first?"

Riker set his elbow on the table and rested his chin on his palm. "Zeus and Poseidon are fighting," he said. "Two of the Big Three. That leaves one left over. Lord Hades might have a grudge. Probably does, in fact. Who wouldn't? Am I right to assume he's not exactly happy with his piece of the world, when it was divided amongst our lovely Olympian three, like, forever ago?" Chiron raised his eyebrows, then nodded. Riker paused.

"Wow. Poseidon's old. And he did it with mom... to make me..." Riker's eyes widened. "Holy crap! Pedophilia! Do all the gods have it?!" Chiron and Jesse choked on air while Clarisse giggled.

Riker shook his head. "Um, anyway. Lord Hades must not like his brothers too much, for forcing him to isolate himself in the Underworld while they get to live it up under the sea or in 'heaven' and get to come to Olympus whenever they want. And you said they forced him into an oath to have no more children back after World War II... Which, if I'm not mistaken, is an oath that only  _he's_  kept, and they've both broken."

Jesse's eyes widened fractionally. "Oh... jeez... I kinda feel bad for him."

Riker nodded. "Slightly. Which is why I'm not immediately going to assume it was Hades who's behind the theft, like Chiron has—" The centaur looked down guiltily. "Just because Hades the brother in the basement non of the family likes to talk about doesn't mean he's instantly the bad guy. I can think of so many more stories about Poseidon and Zeus—and even the minor gods—being jackasses, excuse my French, than Lord Hades. Not to say that Lord Hades was never a jackass, but I'm not one to judge before I know a guy."

Chiron and Clarisse both raised an eyebrow, and Riker tilted his head. "which is why I'm only punching Poseidon in the face once, before giving him a chance to explain. Thus, if I don't like the explanation, He gets another."

They all paused, until, one by one, even Chiron slowly nodded consent.

"Continuing, however." Riker went on. "There are too many instances that connect to Lord Hades to ignore. The hellhound, for one. They can only be summoned from the Fields of Punishment, according to Annabeth, which are in the Underworld." Chiron looked curious, since he'd only ever heard Riker refer to the blond as "Annie-girl," but both Jesse and Clarisse nodded the teen on, realizing that he was in his "professor" mode.

"I don't claim to understand Lord Hades M.O, but, logically, we can't dismiss him from the possible list of suspects." Riker sat back and crossed his legs. "And, going on that topic, Poseidon himself can't be ignored either. There's as much possibility of him being the master of the thief, as well."

Chiron went to protest, but Riker cut him off. "I'm including everything here, in consideration. Both Poseidon and Hades have enough reason to fuel a desire to overthrow Zeus. Just because on of them is my father doesn't mean I'm going to let him off when he could, logically, be the one behind this. He didn't have to use me as the demigod thief, either. He could have chosen another. Then, moving on, I'll include Hephaestus, Hera, and... ah" he lowered his gaze. "Ares, unfortunately, in the list of possible suspects."

Clarisse and Jesse certainly didn't look happy, but they didn't say anything, so he went on.

"This is me saying that it didn't have to be on of the Big Three. There are twelve Olympians that were at that solstice meeting, and quite a large group of demigods, if I'm not wrong. You guys had a 'field trip,' Travis and Connor told me."

"You're acting a bit out of character here, Riker," Chiron observed, eyebrows raised. "Not to say you shouldn't be this smart, no, I meant the way you're speaking..."

"Hush," Riker held up a hand, and the amused centaur chuckled. "I'm in my detective persona right now."

"What's his name?" Jesse grinned.

"Rylocke Holmesson." Clarisse laughed, and Riker turned to look at her with wide eyes.

"Jeez, 'Reese! Write a book!"

The three campers laughed, and Chiron watched them with a smile before gently moving them back on track. "Anything else to add, Mr. Jackson?"

"Looking at the list of suspects, I've decided that the only way to figure this out is to go to the Underworld and ask Lord Hades a few questions."Jesse and Clarisse's laughter died out quickly, and they gulped, but Riker waved a hand. "C'mon, stop. We're not accusing him of anything, just asking a few innocent questions to find the real perpetrator of a crime. He shouldn't 'smite' us over  _that_."

The raven-haired teen detective uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. "So, to answer you're earlier question, Chiron: We'll be going to the Underworld, first-off. We will then follow any leads we get from there until we find out who's the thief, and hopefully we obtain this master bolt before the summer solstice rolls around."

"You look pretty dead-set on this," Clarisse blinked.

Riker smirked. "I'm a man on a mission."

Then the teen turned back to Chiron. "Of course, first we need to interview our dear activities director."

The other two turned to stare at the centaur, who suddenly went back to shuffling the cards on the table. He wasn't one to get nervous very often but these three campers looked  _serious_.

****Ω Δ Σ** **


	11. Three Old Hags Go Down to Jersey

_Okay, I'll admit it. I'm a closet geek._

_But it's ok! Because 'Reese and Jess seem to be, too._

_And, hey, we're little kids in a big, big world, in end of it all._

_And playing pretend detectives was one of my favorite games in Preschool._

_Except we're not playing pretend, this time._

_This is real._

**Chapter Eleven**

Riker tugged at his collar uncomfortably. Jesse stood beside him, looking awkward in his white, button-up dress shirt. Clarisse had forced them both into outfits, but Riker knew she was just prepping them for the game-plan. Full-out detectives, that's what was decided. As long as they stay in character, all should go well.

He looked down at his own white dress shirt. Both he and Jesse had on black ties and nondescript black leather jackets that matched their fingerless gloves. Clarisse had been generous, and all three of them worse black jeans and boots. The blond girl had on her own white button-up, and leather jacket over that. In fact, her own outfit was practically cloned from theirs, asides from the lack of a tie. The girl walked over with a thing folder of papers attacked to a clipboard tucked under her arm, containing their plans, and the three of them clambered onto the black van that Argus was now driving down the Long Island highway to Manhattan.

Riker ans Clarisse shared a bench near the back of the bus, Riker sitting near the window, and Jesse knelt on the bench in front of them, stomach pressed against the back of the seat and arms folder across the top for a place to rest his chin. As Argus the many-eyed chauffeur got off the intersection nearest to camp, they all went over the information they'd managed to compile from their interview with Chiron. "Subject was knowledgeable on much useful information," Clarisse read aloud from the open file in her lap, "Subjects intelligence and experience has been noted. Possibilities that subject was keeping more information than he was giving has been noted. Information detailing on the immediate mission is as follows: the main entrance to the Underworld can be found in Los Angeles, keeping true to the characteristic of being located to the far west of Mount Olympus.

"Team leader's affinity towards water has been noted. Team leader's aversion towards flight has been noted. Team members 1 and 2's affinity towards vehicles has been noted. Quest prophecy has been copied word-for-word and filed.

"Plans continue as follows: team will travel overland toward the city Los Angeles unless faster means in given and accepted. Team allowance numbers at $400 in cash. Team leader carries emergency funds in Enemy 1's stolen credit card. Team will board Greyhound bus out of Manhattan and further plans will be considered and finalized."

She snapped the folder shut and grinned at them. "Well, boys, this is it."

Jesse reached lazily over to ruffle Riker's hair. "Can't believe you pocketed your step dad's credit card and he hasn't even noticed yet."

"Probably 'cause I haven't exactly used it yet." Riker slapped his hand away and fixed his hair bake into it's spikes. "And he's not my step dad. He's scum off the bottom of my shoe that just happens to carry a soul and is fostered in my apartment. Which reminds me," he turned to ward Clarisse. "Add in a note to the team instructions: "Team must avoid using emergency funds at all costs. The possibility of Enemy 1 or authorities noticing card transactions are high and have been noted. Team must keep this in mind at all times when gathering needed supplies."

The vehicle was silent except for Clarisse's pen scratching across the paper, forming neat letters on a file below the one she'd just closed. "Done."

"Alright, and we're all completely certain we packed all provisions?"

"Going over checklist now," Jesse said, pulling out a smaller folder in the design of a planner out of his jacket. "Stash of fifty drachmas, check. Nectar, check. Ambrosia, check. Bags of clothes and personal belongings according to each team member, check. Coupon book for cross-country hotels, check. Weapons, check. Cell phones, check." They'd originally had eight hundred dollars in camp funds, since they'd been expected to cross an entire country all on their lonesomes, but they'd all come to a mutual decisions that communication when split up was a must, and had invested in three cell phones and a wide-range, 4G data plan. They cells had come in the mail just the day before, through way of Hermes' mail service. The package came with a note that had said they were charmed against monster attraction, which they'd all been completely glad for.

"Are we missing anything?" Clarisse asked, worried. "And Jesse, you didn't list the snacks packed in bag number 2." They each carried one messenger bag each, packed with their belongings.

Jesse pulled the pen from behind his ear and scribbled something into the planner before checking it off after a brief search through his own messenger bag. He shut the case with a snap and stowed it back into his jacket.

"Nope, we got everything." The redhead said, smiling. Riker hit his fist with his own and nudged Clarisse gently in the ribs.

"You excited? This is your first quest ever, isn't it?"

She scoffed good-naturally. "It's  _all_  of our first quest ever." She replied. "But yeah. I'm a little nervous."

"Don't be. That's what our omniscient detective/secret agent personas are for." They had all been in an acting class back in their collective school experiences, and had mutually decided to put the skills into good use. The life-or-death situation had been making them all anxious and going into a quest less than confident that they would succeed was dangerous.

"I know," she leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes to shut out the glaring, early-morning sun. "It was a good idea."

"Relax," Jesse said. "We gotta keep clear heads through this."

Traffic slowed them down all the way through Queens, but it soon cleared and they were speeding down the rode again. Argus eventually made it into Manhattan, but by that time most of the day was over and it had began to rain. They instructed Argus to drop them off at the Greyhound Station on Upper East Side, which wasn't too far from Riker's apartment.

"Shades on," Clarisse warned before they stepped out of the van, and all three of them slipped a pair of sunglasses onto the faces. This had been a decided security measure, just in case anyone recognized Riker's face, which had been appearing all over the news according to Chiron.

Argus stayed long enough to make sure they got their bus tickets, then left, the eye on the back of his hand opening to watch them as he pulled the van out of the parking lot.

As they waited for their number to arrive, Riker sat on the street curb, messenger bag in his lap. Clarisse and Jesse sat on either side of him, and all three of them had their jackets zipped up. Riker let his gaze wander down the street that lead back to his apartment and shook his head. "Bastards probably playing poker right now." He mumbled quietly. "Bet he doesn't even notice either of us is gone."

"From what you've told us of that  _thing_ , I'd wager that you're right," Clarisse breathed back, and the edges of Riker's lips upturned in an almost-smile. Jesse leaned forward.

"Mission objective is a go?" He almost made no noise when he spoke, just loud enough for them to hear, and only them. They all kept very quiet in case anyone had decided to try and listen to anything.

Riker looked up to see the bus pull in, and gave a curt, barely noticeable nod.

The rain began to pour even harder as they got up and stepped up onto the Greyhound, moving to sit in the back. As they settled down, Clarisse pulled her clipboard-folder out from under her jacket and checked something off, making a few notes. Riker kept his gaze ahead, watching out for any signed of danger. He met Jesse's gaze over their blond team-members bowed head and shook his head slightly. No, all the passengers seemed to be your average mortals. But...

He stretched an arm silently around Clarisse's shoulders and tapped the redhead's shoulder, dropping a paper into his lap. Jesse unfolded it and then slipped it into the back fold of his planner.

 _Three elder ladies near the front,_ it had said.  _Watch them._

Jesse met his eyes and blinked. Riker looked toward the front and then tilted his head back to glance over at the bus' back emergency exit. He blinked again and looked back at Jesse, who seemed to understand. The redhead settled down in his seat and they both began silently observing the other passengers and the surroundings as Clarisse tapped a few numbers into her cell phone's calculator app.

**Ω Δ Σ**

The Greyhound was halfway to it's next stop when it happened. It was a subtle thing, but Riker saw it, and his eyes narrowed. Two of the old ladies he and Jesse had been watching were sitting on opposite sides of the isle in the front. They crossed their legs in the isle making an X. Nobody else, aside from a few strange looks, seemed to notice. But Riker knew what they meant; it was a clear message. Nobody leaves.

Then one turned back to smile sweetly towards the back of the bus, and Riker had to tilt his head down to keep his face from paling. But his entire body stiffened, and it caught the other's attention.

"Captain?" Clarisse murmured. They'd chosen acceptable names to call each other than sounded normal. Ish. He was the Captain, Clarisse was Class Rep, and Jesse was Second. They'd decided on 'code names' because they knew the monsters out there would at least know Riker's name.

He let out a breath and leaned against her shoulder, Jesse doing the same on her other side so they were huddled. "I put Second on watch for three up front. And guess what?"

Jesse frowned. "They made their first move," he hissed. "No one's getting off this bus, if it's up to them."

"It's my math teacher."

They went rigid. "Dodds?"

He nodded, and Clarisse let out a slow breath. "Shades stay  _on_."

Riker shook his head. "They already know who we are. We either make our move next, or they continue on until we're completely trapped."

"Thank god this bus has a back exit." Jesse breathes, before they all hovered over Clarisse's clipboard as Riker wrote out a plan. They could expect an attack soon, since the Furies didn't need to worry about mortals seeing—the Mist would get in the way. Hopefully, when things went down, Chiron's theory about the Mist liking him would hold true, and he and his friends wouldn't be sen as the bad guys.

Soon enough, the bus hit the Lincoln Tunnel, and the entire cab went dark aside from the lights that ran down the isle. Riker's foot shot out over Clarisse's and hit Jesse in the shins. The redhead nodded and leaned over the side of their seat, pulling off the panel that covered the lights in the very back.

Riker brought his legs up under him and crouched on the seats. The Greyhound was about halfway through the tunnel, now, when the lights suddenly all went out. There were few shouts and a sudden scream, then the rest of the passengers started murmuring. The Greyhound jerked a little in the driver's startled grip, but Riker had already vaulted over the back of the seat in front of them. He leaped from seat to seat until he reached the front, having already traced a pathway before Jesse short circuited the lights. He was careful when jumping over where the Furies were—had been—sitting. They appeared to be making their way to the back now.

"Second!"

The lights flickered on again and Riker grabbed the wheel out of the driver's grasp. He pushed the man aside and practically sat on his lap as he reached out a foot to slam on the breaks. The Greyhound jerked to a sudden stop at the side of the tunnel, near the exit, and Riker looked back in time to see the emergency exit in the rear of the bus slam shut in the three screeching old ladies' faces. He gave the stunned driver a solid pat on the back and moved his shades down to grace the man with a wink, before turning to the doors of the bus, where Jesse and Clarisse were motioning wildly for him to get off.

"Captain!" Jesse called. "Let's go!"

He clambered off the bus and the three of them raced off into the woods to their left, that ran along the New Jersey rural roads which led to the tunnel. Riker couldn't believe there was so much  _nothing_  right across the road from his home city. On the other side lay the Hudson river. Riker felt a slight pull to the body of water, deep in his gut, but he ignored it. There were more pressing matters, like the triple demon grandmas that were now free of the bus and chasing after them.

Except, Clarisse seemed to have other ideas. She glanced between Riker and the Hudson, before grabbing both their wrists and veering to the right.

"'Reese, what—!"

"The river! It'll up our chances," she stressed, and Riker pursed his lips before slipping his wrist from her hand and clasping it with his own, quickening his pace, Jesse right on their heels.

"Jackson!" One of the furies, the one who'd been Mrs. Dodds, screamed. "You've offended the gods!"

Riker glanced back long enough to sneer at her. "You—were a  _horrible_  algebra teacher!"

She screeched, flicking her fiery whip, and the three of them skidded to a stop at the shore of the river, Clarisse still holding on tight to both of their hands.

"Uh," Jesse floundered for a second, panic setting in. "Wh-what now?"

Riker narrowed his eyes and the pull in his gut settled into a connection. Jesse was Jesse right now, suddenly, but he needed—

"Second!" He snapped, and Jesse spun around to meet Riker's eyes with his own, wide green ones. "We need to keep our heads on, right now!"

The redhead sucked in a breath. "Right," he nodded. "You're right."

Clarisse tightened her grip on her sibling's hand, and he squeezed back.

The furies came to a halt a few yards away from their current position, and 'Mrs. Dodds'' sisters flicked their own whips, sick smiled stretching across their wrinkled faces. Riker would never trust an old person the same way again. They were all evil. They must be.

Riker released Clarisse's hand and clicked Riptide into existence, narrowing his eyes as the three Furies hesitated slightly. The ex-Mrs. Dodds, who seemed like the leader of the group(so, Alecto, then), had felt the sting of his blade before, and it appeared that she wasn't too enthusiastic to see it again.

"Submit, now!" She shrieked. "And your eternal torment will be lessened!"

Clarisse shifted back, before slipping off her bracelet and flipping it into a straight line. Jesse watched it grow into her electric spear their father had given her for her birthday. He turned back to the three monsters in front of them and shifted to the left of their group, reaching into his pocket and calling his crossbow into existence.

"Shield." Riker called, as the three Furies began to advance. The passengers and driver of the bus were quiet as they watched, wide-eyed, from the safety of the Greyhound.

Clarisse moved to the front and slipped off her necklace, wrapping the chain around her forearm opposite her spear-hand. A circular shield grew into view, and She knelt in front of them just in time to catch a strike from the whip on it before it hit Riker. Riker leaped over her and slashed down with the sword.

"Second, fire!" Clarisse called as Riker dodged away from another strike and circled back. Fury # 2 now had a rather grievous looking wound in her side and her whip lay on the ground a few feet away.

Jesse let an arrow loose from his crossbow as Clarisse and Riker worked together to distract the other two, and four more arrows followed, another arrow appearing from nothing to re-load the crossbow. The injured Fury crumbled into dust with a horrid scream of rage, and the other two glared hatefully.

Riker rushed the other from behind and she exploded like a pinata.

"Zeus will destroy you!" Alecto slashed at him with her claws. "Hades will have your  _soul_!"

Riker parried the blow and dove in for another hit, but slipped away at the last second and came from her right side instead, catching her deeply above the hip, just below the bat wings that protruded from her back.

Alecto didn't have time to retaliate, since Clarisse stabbed the head of her spear right through her neck, and the fury got a rather bad shock before she exploded into dust with a shriek.

The three of them stood in a circle, breathing hard. Jesse looked up and let loose a grin. "Ha! Nice shot, Class Rep."

The blond girl smirked at him as shrunk her spear back into a bracelet. Riker clicked Riptide into pen form and Jesse's crossbow soon found a place in the redhead's pocket once again.

"Bags," Clarisse reminded them, and they all bit their lips and glanced at the Greyhound. The passengers and the driver were all sitting with their faces pressed up against the windows, eyes wide and a lot of mouths gaping. No one moved for a second.

"Um," Jesse shifted," What do you think they see?"

"How should I know?" Riker huffed, before readjusting his sunglasses. "Hopefully nothing too bad. Chiron said the Mist liked me, so..." He shrugged, and together they made their way back to the bus, climbing up into the back exit, which was left ajar from Clarisse and Jesse's earlier escape.

The passengers back away from the window and watched them climb in and go for their black messenger bags, which were still propped up against their seats, on the floor where their feet would go.

A guy in a Hawaiian shirt, who's mouth was still agape, lifted a camera to snap a picture, but the three of them straightened their back and Riker held his hand up as if to ward him away as the flash went off. The man blushed and the other passengers paused in going for their own camera.

"No pictures, please," Riker said gruffly.

"You weren't suppose to see anything," Jesse added, hoping that Riker's CIA Mist cover still held true.

Clarisse sent him a glance before looking toward the frozen passengers, and the driver who was shifting nervously. "In fact, you didn't see anything at all. Are we clear?"

They all nodded furiously, and Riker was just dying to know what the Mist had showed them. But he shook the thought away as he hefted the strap of his bag over his shoulder, watching Clarisse and Jesse do the same. "Now, what did you see?"

"Nothing," the bystanders to a fight that never happened chorused. Hawaiian shirt man bounced on his heels, slipping his camera back into it's bag.

The three teenagers all nodded once in unison, accepting the answer.

The driver coughed and edged toward the wheel again. "Um, you still on for the ride?"

Riker paused, and exchanged glances with his team. Should they stay on the bus until even the next stop? The people in the cars that had seen what had happened had most likely called the police... He looked out the window and saw the cars that had swerved the the side of the road when the fight had broken out, and people were gathered in small groups staring into the Greyhound windows, trying to see through the tint.

"To the next stop," Riker decided. And the other two teens nodded. They all sat back down in their seat in sync. Riker stared across the rows of seats to the driver. "Not a word to anyone."

The driver nodded hesitantly and sat back down. Soon, the bus was started, and it rolled back onto the road, leaving behind the stares of many bystanders who weren't entirely sure what was going on, or why the vehicle was leaving when the police were on their way.

In fact, they passed those police cars on the way to the Greyhound station. The sirens swept right down the road, not even stopping. The officers had no idea they just passed the bus they were headed towards.

As they approached the station, however, the passengers could see news van upon news van parked next to it, and a rather large crowd of people waiting for them. The Greyhound began to slow even before they were half a mile away, and the people inside stared a head to their destination uneasily. The driver eventually stopped the bus, and looked back to the three silent teens seated in the back, who stared right back as the vehicle idled.

"Ah..." He began. "Do you... Would you like to.. get off, here?"

Riker blinked behind his shades, then had to keep himself from smiling. The corners of his mouth still twitched, however. He stood up and walked toward the front of the Greyhound, feeling more than seeing as his two quest-mates followed without a word. "Yes."

"O-Okay." The driver nodded, settling back in his seat and opening the doors of the bus to let them off. They filed down the steps before turning back to smirk at the driver.

"It was a pleasure," Jesse nodded, and the driver waved back nervously. He couldn't have been older than twenty.

"Um, bye," He bit his lip.

The three of them left, disappearing into the woods and jogging along the tree-line out of view until they reached the station three minutes after the Greyhound had. The driver stood off to the side of the doors as a few of the passengers were still getting off, a few news people attempting to get his interview.

It had started to rain again, so the three of them huddled up together under an overhang nearby and watched the proceedings. The driver glanced around nervously, until he caught sight of them and his eyes widened, before he snapped his eyes down to his feet.

"What do you think he's saying?"Clarisse asked.

"Reading lips now," Riker squinted behind his glasses as he stared across the street at the driver's mouth moving.

"You can do that?" Jesse blinked.

"Duh. Who can't?"

"Um..." The redhead shifted, sharing a glance with Clarisse who licked her lips and frowned.

Riker paused, looking between them. "Wait, are you serious? You guys can't?" His eyebrows rose until they could see them above the glasses. "I thought everyone could!"

"It's a talent," Clarisse pointed out. "Not everyone's just naturally good at everything like you, Rike."

He blushed. "I-I'm not—"

"What's he saying?" Jesse interrupted, leaning forward to peer at the driver and a few of the other passengers who were being interviewed or talking to police officers. The man in the Hawaiian shirt was acting too excited. He narrowed his eyes and Riker noticed as well.

"Should have kept an eye on him..." The raven muttered, before crossing his arms across his chest. "They keep asking what 'exactly' happened, Mister..." He squinted, "Michaels. And he keeps saying... "Nothing, nothing happened."

They let out sighs of relief. "Oh, good."

"I didn't think they would actually listen to us," Clarisse spoke up, a little awed. "Jeez, they're adults, and we're just teenagers. I mean, wow, Rike, the Mist must really love you!"

He grinned. "And, the other passengers are saying the same. It differs, though. One's saying "I can't tell you." That guy," he pointed out a guy in a jean jacket and tan carpenter pants, "he's saying "They said I can't tell you, sorry."

Jesse snickered. "Aw man, the Mist is pretty cool."

Clarisse fist-bumped him, but then Riker went rigid. "Oi!" he hissed. "Hawaiian shirt's not saying anything either, but he's giving them that picture he took!"

"What?!" Jesse scowled. "What the hell?!"

"They probably offered money," Clarisse muttered, glaring across the road. "Some people will do anything for money."

Jesse was suddenly elbowing them, moving them all backwards. "Guys, guys. We gotta scram."

They looked over and noticed that one of the officers had noticed them, and was motioning to two others, heading toward them.

"Shit," Riker hissed. "Let's jet."

Clarisse adjusted the strap of her back, and the three of them disappeared into the woods. By the time the officers arrived under the overhang, closely followed by a group of news reporters, they were gone.

****Ω Δ Σ** **


	12. Class Rep Commits Arson

_Here's a secret;_

_Garden gnomes are actually really ugly. Most of them._

_Honestly, stone statues of any kind terrify me._

_Now, being an avid Doctor Who fan, 'I can attest to the fact that shadows, mannequins, and statues were all on the list of the banes of all existence._

_Now I just have one more reason to be completely certain of the fact that—_

_Statues are evil._

_Just evil._

**Chapter Twelve**

It sure was nice to know there really were Greek gods out there, Riker mused. At least he had someone to blame when things went wrong.

Not that anything had gone wrong, per say. Everything was going splendidly, actually. The only thing that wasn't according to plan was being without a ride, since they'd had to forgo the next bus ride their tickets had had scheduled to get away from the police and new-reporters.

So now they were forced to walk along the riverbank of the Hudson, through the woods of New Jersey, with the skyline of New York lighting the sky yellow behind them.

Living in New York all his life, Riker's sense of direction was on par with that of a navigator—except, he didn't know New Jersey like he did Manhattan. This was uncharted territory, for all of them, and they were quite lost, as it was.

"Seriously, though," Jesse said as he bounced on ahead of them. "All three Furies at once? I can't wait to tell Jace! 'Magine what he'd say," the redhead grinned so large his eyes were squeezed shut.

"They kind of lost their "rare occurrence" badge with me after the first time," Riker said, walking a few paces behind him with his arms braced behind his head. "I mean; all three, phew, nothing to scoff at—but they get old  _real_  fast."

Clarisse snorted from her own path beside him, clipboard/folder clutched to her chest." They were like broken records. I mean, really! You think Lord Hades programs them with pre-selected phrases like those toys that talk when you squeeze them?"

Riker snickered. "' _Lord Hades will have your soul_!'" He squeaked, in a bad purposefully bad imitation of his ex-math teacher's voice. "' _You shall rot forevermore in the Fields of Punishment_!'"

The children of Ares cracked up, laughing so hard they clutched at their sides and Riker decided they should pause for a short rest.

Jesse rubbed at his eyes as he sat down with a huff, his back against the trunk of a pine tree. Riker fell down next to him and shrugged off his messenger bag while Clarisse sat on the trunk of a fallen oak. He glanced at Jesse and frowned. "You okay? Your right eye's a little red 'round the edges."

The redhead blinked and looked to the side, biting his lips and moving his eyes around as if they felt uncomfortable and out of place in his skull. Clarisse looked up and stared. Jesse just shrugged. "Uh-hm. Gets like that, sometimes. Just dry, s'all."

Riker shared a glance with Clarisse, and the Jackson fell back against the tree with a huff. "'Sure. Just speak up if it starts bothering you, mmkay?"

Jesse looked reluctant, but he nodded and Clarisse leaned back again, rubbing her head against the bark of the tree to get rid of a scratch.

Riker pulled out a few granola bars from the bag sitting next to Jesse, and tossed one over to Clarisse. "So, you know about me, just about. I'm curious about you two, though. What's your home life like?"

Clarisse tore the wrapper off and tapped her bottom lip with the edge of the bar, contemplating taking a bite. "My mom's ex-air force. Ran into our dad just as she was finishing up her last tour. He was posing as an army officer and they first met at the naval base for a big-shot military meeting. She totally fell for him, and he asked her on a date after the meeting... I usually spend most of my year at the Camp, but I go home for holidays and some school years if I'm not in some boarding school. I live in Connecticut." She nibbled on the end of her granola bar as Jesse scarfed down his and Riker listened. "Um, I really like theater, chess, and sports. My big brother—he's not a demigod, like me, we have different dads—used to take me to dirt bike races when I was little... I used to want one so bad. First thing I'm doing when I'm old enough is getting a motorcycle and learning how to drive."

Riker grinned. "I already know how to drive. Manual, stick shift,  _and_  motorcycle!"

The blond girl stuck out her tongue at him, envious. "I hate you!"

"Oi! My turn!" Jesse hollered, and the two fell silent to look at him. He blinked. "I was born down south in Louisiana. I have two little brothers and a little sister, she's the youngest. Her name's Evelyn. Jace is the oldest—I'm the second child. Tommy and Gideon are both seven, they're twins."He paused her to take another bite of the granola bar. "But only me an' Jace are demigods. Step dad's a trucker. Drives delivery for wine companies."

"We live in a ranch house with our mom. She owns a vineyard. Pays some pretty penny, and we're not too bad off. Me an' Jace come up to Manhattan to go to school and camp, and the younger kids go to the townhouse for elementary school back home. Mom met dad back when she was younger, when she was in college. She drove a delivery truck for an army surplus store. She dated him for a while, but then she moved to Tijuana to study medicine. 'Ventually she started the vineyard business and met up with dad again and, viola, I was created. Bless the gods. I came after Jace, though. Mom and Dad stopped seeing each other for a while, 'fore they got together again and had me. She dated this one guy, but ditched 'im cuz he was a right bastard."

"What he do?" Riker asked. "Like, Gabe Ugliano bastard, or like... parents-were-married-but-he's-still-a-dick bastard?"

Jesse scrunched up his nose. " _Both_ , I think."

"Oh gods," Riker let his head fall into his hands. "I was putting some faith into humanity to assume there was no one on earth that would meet such 'qualifications.'"

Clarisse harrumphed. "What was he  _like_ , then?"

"He kept gettin' drunk, bad. That's what Jace said.  _Mom_  said he kept spending the money on drugs and stuff so she just decided that he wasn't worth keeping 'round. Whenever me, or Jace, or the little guys bring him up, she just says she wonders how she got trapped with  _him_."

"I'd wonder too," Clarisse seethed. "Guys like that don't  _deserve_  life," she cracked her knuckles.

"I guess I should go next," Riker mused. "I mean, You guys told me more than I've told you. Here goes." He cleared his throat. "Mom met my father—that guy—on the beach one summer. They got to know each other during and after a game of volleyball with Mom's high school friends. He took mom out for a few dates, then they rented a cabin together. Same cabin I usually go with mom to, for summer vacation. It's fun, and mom... was always really happy when we went there." He swallowed thickly, throat suddenly closed up. Clarisse tossed her granola bar wrapper onto the bag and came over to slide down next to him. She put a hand on his knee and Jesse slung an arm over his shoulder.

"Hey, man." Jesse said quietly.

"We're going to the Underworld, right?" Clarisse pipe up suddenly, frowning in thought. "And if we get on Lord Hades' good side, maybe.. maybe he'll let you talk to her!"

Riker straightened up, staring straight ahead. He didn't say anything, so the other two hesitantly picked up their wrappers and tossed them into the plastic sack in Bag #2 that served as their rash for now. But a plan that Riker had forgotten earlier began to take shape in his mind, once again. He compared it with the quest plan and made a few tiny changes until they were merged, and the corner of his lips upturned just a little.

Jesse tucked his jacket around him and un-zipped the front halfway down to show the black tie over the white button up, now that the chill in the air had abated. He pulled uncomfortably at the tie for a moment, before Clarisse shot him a stern glare and he reluctantly left it alone, albeit slightly loosened.

Riker crossed him arms and tightened them around his chest in an almost-hug. He looked down to examine the ground very closely, Then he let out a soft sigh, eyes softening behind his sunglasses.

"I suppose," He said, finally, as he put his hand on his knees and rose into a standing position. But that was all, and Clarisse shared a glance with Jesse before they all began walking again in silence.

The rain had stopped falling a few hours before, so the ground had started to dry up. Fortunately it wasn't as soft or muddy as it had been earlier, so they didn't have to be as careful about where they placed their feet.

A few more hours of walking, and it was starting to get dark out. Clarisse was a little offset about the prospect of having to sleep outside in the woods of New Jersey, especially since she'd never actually been camping before. But Jesse had taken a look at the map in bag #3, had finally figured out where they were, and Riker had concluded they wouldn't reach any establishment before night came.

As the blond girl bit her lip and stared down at her feet as she walked, Riker stopped so suddenly that she and Jesse almost ran into him.

"Captain?"

"Do you smell that?" He asked, looking almost startled behind his shades. Clarisse frowned, taking a small whiff of the air, before her eyes widened.

"Is that—?"

" _Hamburgers_...?" Jesse blinked, stunned. "But, we're in the middle of the woods!" He exclaimed.

"We looked all over the map just a short while ago, and there weren't any fast food joints nearby..." Clarisse pointed out dubiously.

Riker straightened up and tilted his head. "And we're not near a road or anything, I don't hear any cars..." He took a few steps back the way they'd came, before veering off toward their right.

"C-Captain!" Clarisse called after him, and the two children of Ares stumbled as they tried to keep up with him. Riker turned back and smiled.

"Always follow your nose!" he called, before considering it himself. "Wait. No, never mind. Don't do that, that's a  _terrible_  way to make decisions."

"He was just referencing  _Lord of the Rings_ ," Jesse muttered, scowling, and Clarisse snickered. Jesse had been a huge fan, especially of the movie franchise, until Riker had accused him of having a guy-crush on Legolas. Then, the redhead had started glaring at the Jackson whenever the popular book series was brought up. Riker absolutely loved teasing him about it.

The three of them stumbled int a clearing, blinking furiously as the light of a large neon sign assaulted their vision, which was uncovered by shades and use to the darkness of the woods. They demigods glanced at one another before sliding their sunglasses back over their eyes and making their way to the door of the establishment, which seemed to be a warehouse-like shop. Only, half of it looked like it had been remodeled into a greenhouse sort of building.

"What the hell does that say?" Riker squinted, but the other two only shrugged.

"How should we know?" Jesse asked. "We're  _all_  dyslexic, man."

Clarisse stared, barely blinking, and the boys stopped to stand next to her. Her eyes began to tear up, though, and she had to look away after a while. "Um, all I got was " _Ant_ , weird letter, weird letter, space, _Shme_ , space, weird letter,  _Gerda_ , space,  _Go Men..._  space, weird letter, weird letter..." She paused, then giggled, "Um,  _Rump Me_..."  
They stared at her, then burst into laughter.

"Wha-what the hell i-is this place?!" Riker giggled, then slapped a hand over his mouth. Hell no, he did  _not_  just giggle,  _he doesn't giggle_ , he  _doesn't_!

Jesse clutched his stomach and Clarisse had to grip Riker's shoulder in order to keep from falling over. "I-I think I read it wrong..."

"Definitely," Riker gasped, taking his hand off from his mouth and grinning. "' _Shme_ ' isn't a word."

That just made them laugh harder.

Jesse glanced at the entrance, and shuddered. Two bearded garden gnomes stood outside, waving happily, as if they were about to get their picture taken. He gestured at them, and his two companions made faces.

"Ugh. The detail is too much." Clarisse stuck out her tongue, and Riker pursed his lips, shaking his head.

"Yeah. Sometimes you have to keep that cartoon-ish quality or they just look plain disturbing..."

They glanced at one another for a short moment, silent. Then, in unison, they all stepped onto the asphalt to cross the two-lane road.

"Place is kind of weird," Jesse observed, tilting his head.

Clarisse hmm'ed. "Odd place for  _any_  establishment. Probably doesn't get any costumers at all."

"The lights are on inside," Riker said. "Guess it's open, too. 24/7 joint?"

The other two teens shared a wary glance, but they'd crossed the street already. The front lot was a literal forest of statues, and not just gnomes. Cement animals, cement children, even a cement satyr, playing it's reed pipes. Riker groaned quietly when he saw it.

"Dammit, I thought I'd get a break from Stalker-boy on this quest."

Jesse and Clarisse snorted.

"Kinda looks like him too," Clarisse mentioned. "But, y'know,  _older_."

Jesse made a strange sound in the back of his throat that almost sounded like a purr. "I smell burgers... We didn't pack burgers..."

"Obviously, you idiot," she grunted, but Riker could see the longing in her eyes, too. The roast beef sandwiches the nymphs back at camp had shoved in their bags didn't sound as appetizing anymore, he had to agree.

They stopped, and the door in front of them creaked open. Clarisse bumped Riker's shoulder with her own, and he nodded. Standing in the doorway was a tall, Middle-Eastern woman who wore a long black gown that covered anything but her hands, and her head was completely veiled. At this choice of clothing, Riker's internal alarm began to blare. He subtly moved an hand each to pinched Clarisse and Jesse's pockets and jerked them back before they could take a step forward, and they both glanced at him. He stared up at the woman, meeting eyes that glinted behind a curtain of black gauze.

"Children," She spoke, accent there but not thick enough to really take note of. "It is too late to be out all alone. Where are your parents?"

Jesse and Clarisse stepped and Riker nodded at them, before looking back at the woman. "They're back down the street with the motor home and truck. We were on a  _long_  drive, but my stupid big brother did something again and now we need to find a phone to call a gas station. We can't find any signal." Riker scowled, seemingly irritated at a older brother who didn't exist.

The woman paused, her hands clasping in front of her. "Awfully nice clothes for camping..." She observed, and Clarisse grinned brightly. "Yeah! My sister, Hailey, she got married down in Jersey. She had the ceremony in this really big, pretty log house, and it was huge!" She motioned wildly with her hands, the held them behind her back, trying to look excited. "Daddy said lumber-jacks built it, a long time ago—but only like two centuries or so, and not a thousand years..." She pouted.

Jesse played the part of the apathetic best friend well. "She don't care 'bout the wedding, Sarah." he drawled, leaning heavily on his southern accent that wasn't normally discernible. "She weren't  _there_ , yeah?"

Clarisse jabbed him in the ribs. "'Doesn't,' and 'wasn't,' Grant. Mom said to watch your grammar or you'll never get into college!"

He swatted her back, glaring. "I ain't  _wantin_ ' to go, Sarah. Ma'am Sheryl gotta lay off my case!"

"Guys!" Riker snapped, before he bit his lip and turned back to the amused looking Middle-Eastern woman. "Um, I'm sorry! They're just dumb, sometimes. But, Dad told us to come ask if you had a phone we could use?"

The woman smiled. "Of course, my dears. Right back this way, why don't you follow me." She pushed the door open wider to make room for them to enter, and lead them toward the back of the front room. The three hesitated, but crossed the threshold anyway, following her to what looked like an office door. She unlocked it as they reached it, and opened it up to flick on the light. Then she turned to them. "Phone's right on the desk, honey. You can use it, just press 9 before entering the phone number, okay?"

Riker glanced and Jesse, who rolled his eyes and nodded, striding into the room and wandering over to the phone. The heavy door slammed shut behind him, but they could still see him through the glass window that viewed the desk. The three of them watched as he picked up the phone and fiddled with the keypad for a moment, before pressing the receiver to his ear.

The woman turned to them and clapped her hands. "Are you dears hungry? I could pack you a light snack for to road, perhaps? I've just made a batch of burgers..."

Riker bit his lips and exchanged a glance with "Sarah," who then flicked shy eyes toward the floor. Riker grinned, taking in a deep whiff of the pleasant odor of grilled meat and nodded. "Oh, yes please, ma'am!" He crowed, playing his own part of the excited child.

The woman gave a light chuckled, and started toward a door that was ajar to the left hallway of the front room. "Call me Aunty Em, my child. 'Ma'am' makes me feel like an important businesswoman!"

He called an affirmative after her... and then swiveled around to grab Clarisse's shoulders as soon as she was out of sight.

"Clarisse! This is kinda fucking bad!"

She frowned at him. "What's wrong? I mean, this place  _is_  creepy, but..."

"Are you even  _looking_?" He hissed, brows turning downward. "Lady wears a veil so we can't see her eyes. All the stone  _statues_  around us? Aunty ' _Em_ '? As in, the  _letter_  'M'?"

Clarisse seemed to stop breathing for a moment, and her eyes flew open. "Oh,  _shit_..."

Jesse chose that moment to come out of the office, flicking the light off before he shut the door behind him. He took note of their faces, and blinked in concern. "Uh, guys? What's up?"

Clarisse jerked back and stumbled over to shake him quietly by the shoulders, barely concealed panic in her wine-colored eyes. "Fuck, Jesse. We just walked right into Medusa's  _lair_!"

Jesse froze. "What?!"

" _Keep it_ _ **down**_!" Riker hissed placing a hand on both their shoulders. "Alright, head's on, you guys. I've got a plan, alright? I'd never lead you into an unknown location without some back-up plans, okay?"

They both traded uneasy looks, before nodding shakily, taking in deep breaths.

"Okay."

When 'Aunty Em' came out of the back kitchen with a platter full of hamburgers and fries, Sarah, Grant and the newly dubbed 'Chris' all sat at one of the tables in the front room, chatting—or more like, Sarah and Grant were arguing and taking jabs at one another while an exasperated Chris tried his best to referee.

The elder woman smiled sweetly, and set the platter down on the table before them, and Sarah and Grant paused their squabble to eye the food on it hungrily. The three children looked up at Aunty Em in askance, then dove into the meal greedily when she nodded.

"Now," the woman began as she settled into a seat next to Grant, who blinked up at her before going back to his food. "What are all your names? I believe I caught Miss Sarah's and... Grant, was it?" As the redhead's nod, she made a satisfied humming sound, before turnign to the other boy. "But, I don't think you introduced yourself, my dear."

Chris blushes sheepishly. "Oh. Uh, sorry. Mom always says that's rude..." he cleared his throat and held out a hand. "I'm Chris!"

Aunty Em chuckled and shook the offered limb, and Chris picked up a fry to munch on as soon as she let go. "Oh, I don't mind, you three are very well mannered compared to other children I have met."

Chris looked at her disbelieving. "Really?" He asked doubtfully, before his gaze slid over to his friends, who were almost devouring their paper plates as they ate. "Because Sarah and Grant are always fighting..."

A mischievous glint ignited in his eyes, and he snickered. "That means they're gonna get married when they grow up!"

Sarah and Grant choked on their food, looking up with irritated looks on their faces.

"No we're  _not_!, Chrissy!" Sarah huffed angrily, and Chris narrowed his eyes at the play on his name. "I hate that jerk!" She jerked her thumb toward Grant, who rolled his yes.

"Nah, you don't." He said simply. "Otherwise we wouldn't be friends."

"We're only friends 'cause our parents met at the doctor office and forced us on  _play dates_ ," Sarah said hotly. She took another bite out of her burger.

Chris giggled. He turned to Aunty Em and grinned. "They're always like this. My big brother Markus said that they'll get married if they keep fighting like this, and they  _do_!" He said, shooting a triumphant look at the other two as he finished.

Grant grunted, sipping from his glass of iced tea that their host had made available on the tray for them. "Mark ain't always right, Chris."

Chris stuck out his bottom lip. "He's older than us, so he'd now better than we would, duh!"

"I thought you said he was  _stupid_ ," Sarah snickered.

Soon enough, they'd finished eating, and Grant was breathing in and out deeply as if he'd just had a feast and was trying to keep his stomach from bursting. Chris ran his tongue over his teeth and crunched don on the rest of the ice in his glass before the three children turned to face Aunty Em. Sarah bit her lip shyly, before smiling.

"Thank you so much for the food!" She said. "Mrs. Sheryl and Mr. Daniel, Chris' mom and dad, said there wasn't gonna be another fast food place for a while!"

"It was my pleasure," the Middle-Eastern woman said as the four of them stood up. Then, she hesitated, as if afraid to speak, but she seemed to toughen up and turned to them. "Ah, children? Might I ask something of you? Consider it a favor in repay for the food, perhaps?"

The three of them paused, exchanging glances. Chris, apparently the default leader of their trio, bit his lip, before nodding slowly. "Um... yeah, I guess so.. But we can't be too long, otherwise Mom and Dad might get worried... And then Dad will get mad and I might get grounded again for taking too long..."

"Oh, nothing to difficult!" Aunty Em simpered, shaking her head. "It's just, I haven't gotten any good inspiration for a statue for so long, and you three just so happened to get my imagination running again with out conversation. Sch bright children you are.." She tilted her head "Would you mind too terribly if I took your picture?"

Chris seemed to still all of a sudden, but then he shook himself a little and made his eyes widen. "Y-You wanna make statues... of  _us_?" He asked.

Grant and Sarah stared at her in surprise.

"Ya mean, like them garden pieces out there?" Grant jerked a thumb toward the front entrance and, in relation, to the small army of cement statues.

"Exactly like them, dear." the woman clasped her hands eagerly. "Oh, please?"

Sarah bit her lip. "U-Um, I'm not very photogenic... I mean..."

"Oh, don't kid yourself, my dear. You're quite beautiful."

Her face turned red, and Chris shot Grant an amused glance.

"I think that would be okay..." Chris turned back to look up at their host. "I guess that wouldn't be so bad, right? We can wait here while you go get your camera."

The woman, paused, as if she hadn't really thought of a camera at all, and Chris internally narrowed his eyes. Ah.

"Yes, of course," Aunty Em breathed, patting him on the shoulder. He grinned up at her sweetly. "Just wait right here, and I'll go get my... camera, dears."

They all stood and watched silently as she made her back into the hallway. There was a second of stillness, before the three traded panicked looked and bolted for the door.

****Ω Δ Σ** **

They camped in the forest for the night, lounging on the sleeping-bags that had been in Jesse's back. They'd been blessed by Hermes, Chiron had said, so they held much more than they appeared to be able to.

But none of them got any sleep. They were just waiting it out, the night cast in an eerie green glow and the smell of burning  _everything_  permeated the air. Clarisse had chucked a small pot of Greek fire through the door when they'd fled, and they'd had only a ten second delay before it exploded.

"I hope to God she perished." Jesse groaned, stretching his arms above his head. His voice still held a Southern lilt to it, but it faded more ever hour.

"It was either Greek fire or cutting off her head," Clarisse told them from her place slouched against the tree-trunk of a cherry tree. "And I just can't see how we would have gotten into a good position of cutting off her head, y'know?"

"Would've been messy," Riker agreed, voice muffled. He'd climbed onto the low branch just above Clarisse's head and was lying along it, on his stomach with his head in his arms.

Jesse crossed his arms and let out a long breath. "... I'm bored."

"Twenty questions," Clarisse piped up, blinking a single eye open. "Then we can know the little things, too."

"I dun wanna play a game right now," Riker groaned sleepily, shifting on his perch. Jesse reached up to poke him in the side, and laughed as the sable-haired teen hissed at him.

Clarisse frowned. "C'mon, it's not like we have anything better to do right now."

"Oh, I don't know," Riker drawled. "How about.. sleeping? Yes, of  _course_  not..."

"Well, we're waiting the fire down," Jesse pointed out. "Then we'll go scavenge to see if the bitch had any drachmas. I mean, you could sleep until then, but..."

"Mmf," Riker sighed. He lifted his head sleepily, the sunglasses that were propped above his forehead askew. "...Fine. We can go  _alphabetically_. Girl first."

She rolled her eyes and snuggled back into the trunk of the oak. "Aight. Um... My favorite color is maroon?"

"Yellow." Jesse yawned.

"Mmm. Blue."

Their redheaded friends shuffled over with his sleeping back and tossed it next to Clarisse's. "I guess we doing the lame, easy question's first?" He winced at her was caught under a death stare. "Hmm... My favorite animal is lions."

Riker rested his chin on the back of his crossed wrists. "Snake."

Clarisse sniffed. "... Cat."

"Pffft," Riker huffed in amusement. "How mediocre." She glared at him, and his rolled his eyes. "Just kidding, cat's are adorable... Uh, my turn. Let's see.." He closed his eyes and locked a yawn behind his jaw. "Mmm. Favorite food is... Italian. Except I hate tomatoes and mushrooms."

Clarisse made a face. "Ugh, Mushrooms. So gross." She shuddered, before tapping her lip. "I like Greek food. Otherwise, pizza."

"Asian for me," Jesse hummed. "Though I do like a good old Southern spread from time to time. Mom makes the best food... I hate, hate, hate limes and lemons." He slid down against the trunk and snuggled down into his own sleeping bag.

"While we're on the topic of food," Riker yawned, "Let's do favorite drinks. I love root beer—"

"Seconded!" The other two laughed.

He grinned. "And bubble tea. It a Thai thing, the street vendors down in Madison Square sell it."

"I love those guys," Jesse replied. "When we finish with the quest and get back to Manhattan, let's take a detour to Madison Square and try a bunch of new foods."

Riker glanced down to meet Clarisse's eyes, and they nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

Clarisse stretched, popping her back. "Back to me, then. Favorite song?"

The two boys gave frustrated groaned, and she snickered. "Hard one, I know. Sorry. Mine is... " _Renegade_ ," by Styx. And my Favorite band is Breaking Benjamin."

"Ehhh..." Jesse shrugged. "I like " _I Want You Back_ ," by Jackson 5. Favorite band is... ACDC, I guess."

Riker grinned. "My current favorite song is the  _Five Night's At Freddy's_ song, by The Living Tombstone, and I absolutely love Skillet, or Thousand Foot Crutch."

"That horror game?" Clarisse shook her head. "Mom wouldn't let me pay that."

Jesse winced. "Jace and Mom got in a fight about that. Lucky," he stuck his tongue out at Riker, who reached down and grabbed it.

Clarisse rolled her eyes as the redhead let out a strangled yell, that was muffled by their friend's fingers in his mouth. He jerked back, which made Riker pitch forward and fall off the branch, Landing in both their laps. She flinched, then glared at them, but the look went unnoticed since they were too busy wrestling each other. The blond growled and joined in the fray with a tackle aimed at Jesse.

"My favorite mode of transportation is by speedboat!" Jesse hollered as Clarisse attempted to back in his skull.

Riker rolled to avoid being trapped under their kicking feet. "Motorcycle!"

" _Same_ ," the blond girl growled as she reached out clawed fingers and made a grab for raven hair.

**Ω Δ Σ**

Early the next morning, three sleepy teens stumbled across the two-lane road and into a clearing that used to hold  _Aunty Em's Garden Gnome Emporium—_ Clarisse, after standing before the fallen sign and staring for a good few minutes, finally deducted. They slipped past the charred remains of the front door, barely standing. They wandered past the table that they'd eaten dinner at the night before, eyes roaming over the collapsed chairs that really didn't even look like chairs anymore. The shared a collective glance, before heading toward the back office.

The office door was barely clinging to the burnt door-frame, and it fell as soon as Clarisse poked it with her finger, a large crack appearing straight down the middle and the edges crumbling a bit. She raised her eyebrow at Jesse, and he shrugged. Riker shouldered past them and ventured into the room.

"I actually can't fucking believe the desk seemed to have survived."

Jesse poked his head through the door way. "Seriously? What are the chances?"

"Move your fat ass, Jesse, you're blocking the doorway," Clarisse grumbled, before stepping to the side and entering the room through on of the many spaces in the demolished wall, and taking a look for herself. "Huh."

Riker shifted forward and started to search through the desk drawers, pulling open filing cabinets and shuffling through papers on the shelves. There was $600 and a collection of golden drachmas in the cash register, along with some packing slips for Hermes' Overnight Express. He slipped those into Clarisse's bag, which held the rest of their money as well. What he was really interested in was the account book Medusa had kept on her desk. It showed her six most recent sales.

And they were all shipments to the Underworld.

"Guys, check this out," He said, showing them the documents. "The entrance to the Underworld is where we thought it would be."

"California." Clarisse said, satisfied at their correct guess.

"Hollywood, should have known..." Jesse pulled the account book closer to him. "DOA Recording Studios?"

"Just a front, I'd say." Riker said, flipping the book shut and tossing it back on the desk after ripping out the bill with the sales to the Underworld and slipping it into Clarisse's bag as well.

"Alright, time to go." He said, rubbing his eyes under his shades. Maybe they could get more sleep next time night came around.

"Wait, guys?" Jesse turned around and stared closely at the front lot, a confused look on his face. Clarisse and Ricker turned to him, each raising an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Where the fuck did all the statues go?"

****Ω Δ Σ** **

****


	13. Grandpa Comes Calling

_I'm a pretty useless human being, now that I think about it._

_I mean, it seems so, sometimes. Sometimes, it feels like I can't do anything right._

_Sometimes, I feel like everyone would be better off without me._

_Mom wouldn't be gone if she hadn't had me(if she hadn't met that idiot god, but I can't blame him for everything. He made her so happy; she'd smile whenever I brought him up—but it was a sad, **sad**  smile, so I can blame him for  **some**  things)._

_'Reese and Jesse wouldn't be risking their lives on some quest right now. I know they're so excited, but the truth of all this is that this journey we're on is really dangerous—we're going to the **land of the dead**. And we might not all come back— **none**  of us might._

**Chapter Thirteen**

"Team meeting," Riker decided once he'd finished with the Iris message.

It was just after sunrise and the racket the birds were making was giving them all a migraine. He'd just given a summarized report of what had happened to Chiron back at camp—a safety measure they'd all agreed on before they'd started out on the quest. Anything major worth reporting they'd pass on to Chiron.

The only reason they hadn't sent a report after the fury attack was because that had been slightly expected, and they'd been surrounded by mortals—then they'd been putting distance between themselves and the busier parts of New Jersey. So he'd compiled the attack within his report of the gorgon Medusa's demise.

Chiron had thanked him for the news and said he'd notify the keepers of the Priority Monster List—a list the demigods kept on the Camp New Bulletin of all the monsters that were bad news to run into. It was comprised of several big kahuna's, including Medusa and the Minotaur.

The centaur had also expressed relief to hear that they were all okay. Riker felt bad for worrying, since he knew the ancient being saw them all as his own children(even if Riker himself hadn't been home long), but knew he couldn't really do anything about it.

"What next?" Jesse questioned once they'd gathered in a circle. He and Clarisse had been packing up their small camp while Riker had been busy with his report, and their bags were now slung over their shoulders. Clarisse handed Riker his as the redhead continued, "I mean, you mad a good point to Chiron—what did the Furies even want?"

Clarisse jabbed him in the ribs with a scowl. " _Wrinkly hags_ , dumbass. Don't say their names out  _here_ —you wanna call them right to us? Those grannies reform faster than your average cyclops, they're probably back out and looking for us again, by now."

"Settle the fuck down, you jackasses," Riker warned, fondly, while Jesse rubbed his side with a glare. "But 'Reese has got a point, Jes. We don't want them causin' us trouble so soon after they almost totaled that bus of mortals just to get at us."

"If you hadn't had half a plan in mind when we got on..." Clarisse shook her head, and Jesse winced.

"Bus prob'ly be fucking  _scraped_ ," he huffed, adjusting the strap of his back. "Still, what did the  _hags_  want in the first place? Lord Hades' must've sent them, but for what reason?"

"In that case, we should probably give him a temporary nickname too.  _Mandos_ , anyone?" The blond and the raven both turned to grin at a suddenly angrily blushing redhead, who took a swipe at Riker.

"Shut up, asshole." The country boy muttered darkly, swinging his messenger bag into Riker's face—or he would have, if the teen hadn't ducked.

"They were looking for something," Clarisse brought them back on track with a stern look. "But we don't know what. Any ideas?"

"Make a new file," Riker told her. She nodded and slipped her iPhone into her hand. It automatically updated itself into the most recent version, ad they'd all been startled to find iPhone 6s in their pockets. Riker thanked Hermes that the phones were virtually unbreakable, or they'd all spend a lot of necessary time treating the device's like glass.

While Clarisse tapped away, opening a new file on Evernote, Riker continued to speak. "Title it "Unsolved Problems( . Summary: a list of problems that have cropped up during the mission(uncompleted). Partnered file; Solved Problems( ). Add this to that list, then open another file and title it as the Unsolved list. Leave that empty for now—no," he paused, frowning thoughtfully. "Add in our encounter with Medusa. On both lists, and put a 'solved' in parenthesis beside it on the unsolved list."

Jesse was on his own phone while they did this, bringing up a map of their current location and mapping out their change in course. Clarisse nodded along as Riker spoke, fingers tapping wildly away at her on-screen key-board.

"They were demanding to know where 'it' was." The redhead put in. "They were asking about an object, and I get a feelin' it wasn't the godsdamned Master Bolt."

"There's something else going on here," Clarisse agreed. Then she turned to Riker. "That it?"

"On the Solved list," Riker added, "put a brief summary of how the problem was solved. On the unsolved list, put down when and where we ran into the problem. This is so we can cover all our bases when we go over the mission after we finish it, back at HQ."

"This way, we can learn all we can from any mistakes we might make," Jesse murmured, rubbing fingerprints from his phone with his sleeve. Riker nodded to him.

"That's right. In case of any future missions that need careful consideration... Any idea of where we're going, Second?"

The redhead grinned. "We need to head west," He said, showing the map on his phone. "We're actually pretty near Weehawken Stadium right now, believe it or not. If we headed a bit to the north, we'd run into the Police Department—and fuck  _that_  idea to hell, so I mapped out a road around that... We'd go along the South Marginal Highway until we get to Pleasant Ave."

Clarisse and Riker looked at his screen from over his shoulders.

"Then we could buy tickets for the 95 south-bound Greyhound," the blonde girl nodded, "and get off at 88th, which would take us west—see, it goes all the way to Ohio."

"Further," Riker reasoned. "But that make a huge fucking dent in our budget. We'd need meals too, the snacks in our bags won't hold out the entire way."

"We knew that when we packed," Jesse sighed, saving the route he'd set onto his phone and closing the app. He shouldered his bag and eyed his companions. "Well, posse? Let's get our asses on the road."

**Ω Δ Σ**

Riker leaned against the window of the Greyhound as it pulled out of the station. Clarisse was on lookout while her teammates rested—she'd wake Jesse up in two hours for his shift. It had started raining again, the small droplets of water hitting against the pane of glass like they were trying to smash through and stab him, and Riker shuddered at the reminder of that night...

They'd changed clothes before they made their way out of the wooded part of New Jersey, since they'd have been on the news. Anyone could have recognized them in the outfits their were wearing. He was wearing white skinny jeans and a dark gray V-neck under his leather jacket, with tan, worn hiking boots. Jesse and Clarisse were in similar outfits, except Jesse's shirt was orange, he was wearing tan workshop pants and he had a black skull-cap pulled over his noticeable hair. He'd decided against the leather jacket, and had a black sweatshirt on, with the words "Seattle Seahawks" across his chest.

Clarisse was wearing black jeans, a navy, long-sleeved, turtle-neck and a pair of Vans skater shoes in muted colors. She'd borrowed a dark purple hoodie that zipped up in the front from Riker. She currently had the hood up, and was tapping away at her phone while keeping a close eye on their surroundings.

It was slightly uncomfortable, since the Greyhound seats were really only made for two adult-sized people, and not three teenagers, but Jesse had squeezed in the middle, and Riker had slung his legs over the redheads lap so they'd all fit. None of them wanted to be separated, even by the isle.

When Clarisse woke Jesse up for his turn, she'd trade places with him. Once it was Riker's turn, he'd slide over and Jesse would once again be in the middle.

Riker smothered a yawn and reached down to pull a Gatorade out of Jesse's messenger bag, uncapping it and taking a drink. Clarisse glanced over at him from her phone.

"You should get some sleep, Rike," she told him.

He pursed his lips. "Yeah, I know. I'm working on it."

She sighed, concealing a yawn of her own, and carefully reached over Jesse to grab his hand. Riker raised his eyebrows and she seemed to bite her tongue. "I know you're worried about your mom, Riker. But you told us a little—not all of it, I know that, but some. And it makes me glad that you trust us." She assured, when he winced.

"I wish I could you guys tell you all of it," he admitted. "But, you might try to stop me."

She frowned. "Just... promise me you won't try anything risky—like, life-threatening risky. Okay?" She squeezed his hand, and let go of it, turning back to her phone with a satisfied half-smile when he nodded.

Riker released a deep sigh, wriggling back into the seat until he'd warned his area of the seat with friction and was slightly more comfortable. He let the back of his head rest against the chilly window, then shuddered and pulled up his collar, sliding down until it covered more than just the back of his neck. He closed his eyes and, with some difficulty, drifted off.

He really hoped that he wouldn't end up breaking that promise.

**Ω Δ Σ**

Riker toed the rather jagged and uneven rock that lay at the edge of the chasm forward, and watched silently as it toppled off it's resting place and spiraled down into the darkness below.

Looking down made him a little dizzy, so he shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. He could still, very vaguely, feel the slight vibration of the Greyhound beneath him, if he focused with all his consciousness, so this had to be a demigod dream—otherwise he'd be freaking out right now, wondering how the fucking hell he'd gone to sleep on a bus and woken at the edge of a abyss in the middle of a cave...

A cave that was rather far underground, now that he considered it. And the pit before him, it was so wide and so completely pitch black that there was absolutely no way it wasn't bottomless. And the feeling he had, like something in the pit was clawing it's way up the side, trying to grab hold of him.

 _The little hero,_  a deep, hissing voice suddenly mused, from inside the pit, the sound echoing within the vast cavern and making Riker nearly jump out of his skin. Cold, and heavy. Freezing.  _Too weak, too young, but perhaps you will do._

"Um," Riker coughed. "Sorry, pal. But if I'm too fucking  _young_  for something you want to do, maybe you should, uh, wait 'till I'm, I don't know,  _legal_?"

The voice seemed to pause, considering him with something that felt, to Riker, like slight disbelief, or incredulousness.  _...What?_

Riker blinked. "If I'm underage for something, can't you be patient? I mean, jeez dude, I know I'm attractive, but... That's slightly pedophile? Wait," Riker stopped, suddenly suspicious, while the voice spluttered. "Are you one of the gods? Cuz then I suppose it doesn't really matter to you. You're all pedophiles, but I'd have thought you fuckers would at least wait till the mortal's of age before trying any shit."

 _No! For Chaos' sake, **no**! _ Riker suddenly felt the entire abyss shudder, as if every nightmare and monster in it was trying to get that image out of it's mind.  _Honestly, child. Why on Chaos' green earth would you think that?_

"It's that voice of yours, man," Riker drawled, shuddering himself. "It's fucking creepy. Total pedo material."

 _Th-that's not even—_ The voice seethed for a moment, sulking down there it's its dark hole of blackness and evil. Riker hummed and plopped on the ground, sitting Indian style as he waited for the voice to compose itself.  _I brought you here for—for a **completely**  different reason. I don't—I mean—what's  **wrong**  with you, you're twelve!_

"That was  _my_  question," Riker complained. "Except, directed at you. Cuz, I am twelve, thank you very much. Who the hell are you, anyway."

 _Well, I'm—_ The voice paused, then continued, sounded irritated.  _No, I wasn't going to tell you, not yet._

"Well, scratch that, too late for it now, you already started introducing yourself!"

_No! I sent you this dream so I could make you an offer! I want to **barter**  with you, boy._

"But what do I fucking cal you?" Riker huffed, annoyed. "I can't just have this deep, dark voice in my dreams without knowing it's name."

_D-Don't call me an it, I am **male** , dammit!_

"Fine—fine,  _his_  name." Riker rolled his eyes. "Happy?"

 _I'm never happy,_ the voice—he—sniffed haughtily.  _So, no._

"Chaos, tough crowd," Riker sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Whatever. I guess I'll just have to give you a  _nickname_ , then," he grinned suddenly, with a vicious edge.

The presence of the voice shrank back ever so slightly, as if suddenly uneasy.  _What are you—_

"Let's see, deep, alto voice in my head. Lives in an abyss in a cavern that deep underground—most likely the Underworld, now that I think about it—so wait, that means this must be Tartarus. Well, then... feels a bit ancient. Evil-ish..." Riker paused, looking down into the abyss and squinting his eyes. "Wait a second..."

The one the voice belonged to seemed to stare back up at him, blinking.

" _Grandpa_?!"

Silence. And then—

 _W-what?!_ The guy spluttered—though the voice certainly didn't sound old, but it had that ancient feel to it—must've been the accent. The presence was suddenly closer than ever, rearing itself his face.  _I am not—I'm not—how **dare**  you call me that you—you  **imbecile**! I am the great  **Lord** —_

The voice broke off, suddenly. And Riker grinned, silently laughing. The guy had obviously never been called grandpa before. How... sad.

 _Nice one,_ Kronos admitted, backing off a bit.  _You're smarter than I gave you credit for, half-blood._

"That word is slightly offensive," Riker said, shrugging. "But I'll let it slide just this once. For future reference, though, I prefer 'Great and Powerful Offspring of a Jackass.' Just so you know."

 _I'll keep it in mind_ , his grandfather—wait, holy  _shit_ —promised, before that sinister edge creeped back into his voice.  _Anyway, about my offer..._

"Oh, right," Riker sat up. "Well, what was it? You said something about bartering? Come at me, bro—well, Gramps."

 _ **'Grandpa'**_ _was better than_ _ **that**_ , Kronos complained, and the air above the pit shimmered with a sudden light as a figure appeared out of nowhere.  _Anyway. They've mislead you. You barter with me, and I'll give you what you really want._

Riker choked, all senses of humor gone. "Mom."

And that was who the figure was. She shimmered with a golden hue, still frozen in the position she'd been in when the Minotaur had vanished her. Riker's mind took off, calculating all kinds of scenarios.  _She wasn't actually dead—time lock?—frozen in place—not moving—is she aware—not dead, she is not dead—look at her—right there—I could reach out and touch her—no, stop that—thinking thinking, c'mon—barter? A chance too—no, it's a no go—too risky—how can I—THINK, Riker—fucking asshole of a grandpa—_

 _Help me rise, kid._  Kronos whispered to him.  _Bring me the bolt, and you can have her back._

"You know, she's basically your daughter in law," Riker glared. "Oh wait, no she's  _not_ , because my Seaweed Brain of a biological dad never actually married her—ungrateful, unfaithful jackass. All the gods are."

Kronos seemed to be pleased with the way things were going. He let the image of Sally Jackson fade, and seemed to pull closer and closer. Up and out...  _Help me rise, Jackson. You'll have you mother, and I'll have my freedom._

"How about 'no'?" Riker drawled, kicking the presence away. "The gods are jackasses, but you're  _Daddy_  jackass. Sure, they cut you up and castrated you—or whatever really happened then—but you  _ate_ them; ew. So no, I'm not helping you rise. You'll probably kill me in the end anyway, and not uphold our  _deal_. 'Sides, I've got a entire group of people counting on me to end this fucking childish fight between Uncle Thunderwear and Father-dearest."

Kronos practical vibrated with anger.  _ **Idiot**_ _—can't you see they're lying to you? I, on the other hand—_

" _Taught_  them how to  _be_  jackasses in the first place. The child follows the parent's example." Riker snapped. "So, okay. They might be lying. Hell if I know. But— _you might be lying too_."

_Damnable grandson, let me—_

Riker gave the entire dream one great, mental shove, and—

— _OUT!_

He woke up with a growl.

**Ω Δ Σ**

Riker's eyes snapped open, and he shifted in his spot, looking over at his friends. Clarisse was leaning against his shoulder, blond hair curtaining her face and soft breaths coming from her nose. Jesse was leaning back against the seat, one foot out in the isle and eyes up near the Greyhound doors. They must have switched shifts while he was asleep. Weird, he was usually a light sleeper— _must have been the demigod dream._

Riker glanced at his phone, held snug in one hand. His palm had two red lines etched into the skin from gripping the device while he'd slept.

_7:57_

Almost eight in the evening. The Greyhound would reach their stop in two and a half hours, and Riker's watch was in exactly three-no, two, now—minutes. He reached his free arm over Clarisse to poke Jesse in the temple. The redhead looked over at him, blearily. Riker bit his lip. Jesse's right eye looked incredibly irritated, like he had something in it and hadn't been able to dig it out.

"Jesse, tell me the truth," Riker warned, slipping over and gently laying Clarisse's head on his jacket-pillow as he switched places with her. "Is your eye alright? I'd say you were having an allergic reaction to some shit, but it's only the right one."

Jesse rolled his shoulder, closing both eyes as the joints popped. He sighed. "I—my eye is fine, Riker."

"The  _truth_ , Second."

Jesse frowned, shoving Riker's hand away and crossing his arms. "What if I don't want to tell you, hm?"

Riker paused, sitting back. He looked over at Jesse, who was staring at his lap and fidgeting with his jacket zipper, which was at the hem since he'd unzipped it after they'd boarded the Greyhound. "Jesse, whatever it is, it looks like it's hurting you're eye. As your  _friend_ , anything that causes you  _harm_  concern me, got it?"

The redhead took a deep breath, then blew it into the scarf he'd liberated from Clarisse's bag. Once they got past Ohio it would be warmer, but for now it was still New York/New Jersey chilly. Jesse repeated this a few times to warm up the inside of the scarf and then pressed his face further into it.

"Jesse."

"Hm?"

"You really don't?"

Jesse lifted his head, frowning slightly. "What?"

"Don't wanna tell me?"

Jesse was quiet, absentmindedly cracking his knuckles. "... I don't know."

Riker tilted his head. "Just so you  _know_ , asshole, I'm your  _friend_ , and so is 'Reese. Whatever it is, we won't much  _care_."

Jesse stared.

"Okay?"

He nodded, switching places with Riker since it was the Jackson's turn for lookout. Jesse snuggled down, leaning slightly against Clarisse with his legs pulled up to his chest and face buried in his scarf; but Riker caught the small, almost-there smile on his lips, before he hid it and fell asleep.

**Ω Δ Σ**

"We'll be taking a train, next." Riker informed his two teammates as they settled into the hotel room. Usually, since they were twelve, they wouldn't have  _been able_  to book a room since they were... well, they were  _twelve_.

Except baby Jesse, who was  _almost_  twelve. Just two more months.

But that wasn't the point.

They'd entered the station bathrooms and had dressed up as their agent personas again, and suddenly a whole lot of attention was focused on them. A few people snapped photos of them, until Riker had held up a hand to ward one camera off, and then people were more sneaky about it and candids were all the rage.

Anyway, when they'd gotten to the hotel, Riker sent a quick almost-prayer to the Mist— _you gorgeous, beautiful entity, I adore you,_ _ **please**_ _make this work_ —and flashed a card in the face of the woman at the front desk. It was completely black and set into a black, FBI-esque wallet, but if all went well it should do the trick... They just hoped to Chaos that the Mist still loved Riker.

"A room for three, single night."

The woman stared at him, open mouthed, before nodded quickly. "Erhm... O-Of course, Agent Jackson. Just one minute..."

They waited, and Riker slipped the fee across the counter before they all turned and made their way to the elevator.

The hotel was relatively fancy, but nothing expensive. Jesse reached his hand into a bowl they passed on the way and tossed a mini-Milky-way bar to each of his cohorts as the lift's doors closed.

Clarisse adjusted her sunglasses before pealing back the wrapper and taking a bite. Riker sent his redheaded friend a grin and took the chocolate for what it was—an sort of apology for being difficult earlier on the bus.

He waved a hand at Jesse and shook his head. It wasn't needed, he understood.

"Faster than buses the whole way," Clarisse agreed, flopping back onto one of the two beds and tossing her shades on the nightstand. Jesse and Riker tossed their own bags onto the other bed and sat down. Riker pulled his phone out and Jesse entered the data from his planner into his own to update their shared calender/to-do list app.

"Much," Riker agreed, closing the apps that he didn't need to save memory, and plugged his charger into the outlet above they boys' own nightstand. "Also, we need to update the files. Add one for the dark titan."

"Kronos?" Jesse frowned, looking up. Riker stole across the room and bagged some ice from the ice bucket, then chucked it over to Jesse, who gratefully pressed it to his reddened eye. "Why do we need a file on him?"

"Dear old Grandpa paid my dreams a visit on the ride over."

They started, head whipping up to look at him.

"What?" Jesse yelped, dropping the improvised ice-pack in his lap. Clarisse gripped her manila folder with white knuckles, staring over at him.

"Why the fuck  _even_?"

"Wants me to help him rise." Riker shrugged. "I said no of course, but..."

"But?" Clarisse blinked, watching him warily.

Riker sat down heavily. "He showed me my mom."

They stiffened.

"Th-the  _fuck_?!"

"That  _bastard_ , how dare he—"

"Settle the fuck down," Riker soothed them. "I know, he's a dick. It was basically written on his Greek myth  _profile_ , c'mon." A nasty grin grew on Clarisse's face as she dove into her folders, grabbing her pen. She kept an ear on his words. "We should have expected it, and, to be honest, if I was in his place I'd use the twelve year old's 'dead-but-not-dead-maybe' mom against him too, if it meant getting out of that place." Riker shuddered.

"Tartarus?" Jesse guessed, and he nodded.

" _Totally_  some other shit going on here," Clarisse mused as she scribbled away in her neat, typewriter handwriting.

Jesse groaned, pressing the ice back to his eyes and falling back onto the bed. "Wrinkly hags, trip to the underworld, falsely-accused-of-a-crime friends, and now a titan lord?! What next, fucking Santa?!"

"Don't you fucking  _dare_  jinx us, you bastard." Riker growled, and Clarisse sneered.

Jesse held up a hand in surrender, laughing. He closed his eyes, looking for all the world that he wanted to take a nap. "We should order some food."

"Room service," Clarisse purred., sapping her folder closed with a content smile. Riker grinned and grabbed the phone.

"Wait." Clarisse sighed, standing up. "We should eat in the dining area. More choices, and there's a huge fire place to throw in some offerings."

"Feeling homesick?" Jesse snickered, but there was some understanding in his eyes.

Clarisse glared at him, but it wasn't as acidic as she could usually make it. "No, it's just we might as well get into some good graces. Pick a few on the way down?"

"Ares, obviously," Riker said, matter-of-factly as he pulled his jacket on, and Clarisse grabbed her shades.

Jesse tossed his ice-pack into the trash as they made their was to the door and pulled a black skullcap over his red hair in the hopes that people might overlook them. His sunglasses hid his red-eye. "Probably Barnacle Beard, as well. I know none of us like him, but you  _are_  his kid, and I heard he's a real softie."

Riker frowned, locking the door behind them and slipping the key card into his pocket. " _Fine_. Also, Keeper of the Hearth and Home, Mother Goddess, and Lord Mandos."

"We need a shorter name for her," Clarisse muttered, referring to Hestia.

"'Just the Keeper?" Jesse offered, and the other two agreed.

They made their way down to the dining area, and silently groaned at the sight. It was rather packed... and the talking quieted down as they exited the elevator and walked over.

Riker's eyes surveyed the are, before he nodded at a table off to the side that was relatively secluded from the rest, and set up pretty near to the fire.

They walked over and sat down. Clarisse sighed and set the folder in the middle of the table.

"Read over the new info while I get my food. Just so we're all on the same page."

They nodded as she stood up and made her way over to the buffet line. A few adults seemed to move out of her way, but for the most part she only moved ahead to the middle of the line before a man put his foot down and glared at her.

The two boys sitting at the table leaned forward in their chairs(which were against the way, facing the rest of the room) and tilted their heads, reaching into their jackets for their weapons just in case the man turned out to be a monster.

Apparently not, since the man paled and backed down when Clarisse reached into her jacket as well, to grip her spear. He still didn't give up his place in line, however, but Clarisse wasn't expecting that, so she leaned back to wait. The boys relaxed into their chairs and turned back to the file, Jesse keeping a lookout while Riker read.

Riker left to get his own food while Jesse read over the file, and then came back to pull a small medicine kit out of his own bag while Jesse went to serve himself up. Clarisse raised an eyebrow, but Riker leaned forward to whisper, "To give a clue to that idiot. Sometimes up with Jesse's eye and I'm going to find out what it is."

She paused, then nodded seriously, going as far as too flip open the kit and pull out a test tube that would normally be used to contain blood samples. Riker tossed her a smirk, then sat back as Jesse approached th table.

He sat down and stared at the kit, before turning to them and raising an eyebrow. "Riker reached up to tap his right eye, and Jesse blinked, gulping. He leaned forward.

" _What_?" He whispered. "I thought I told you I didn't want to talk about it?"

Riker shrugged and grabbed the tweezers from the kit, snapping them a few times. He considered them a second, before shrugging slightly and stirring his food with them, picking over a few bits absentmindedly. "I know. We both know. But that doesn't mean we're gonna let you out of telling us anyway," he breathed back.

Clarisse glared at him. "We're worried about you, and it's taking our focus away from the mission. We can't worry about you and stay in character at the same time, Second." She hissed quietly.

Jesse bowed his head over his food, grabbing the test tube from her hand and pouring some of his drink in it. He shook it in his hand a few times before holding it up to the light to watch the bubbles swirl around inside.

He sighed.

"In the room, at least. Or on the train. Not here."

"Sooner is best." Clarisse warned, before poking at her steak with a needle.

Eventually, they all decided to sacrifice their entire portions of meatballs for the fire offering. They spooned them into a napkin, and Clarisse stood, gathering the food in her hands. She walked over to the fireplace, ignoring all the hotel patrons who were watching her, and tossed her cargo into the fire. As she turned to walk away, she closed her eyes and sent a quick prayer to Ares and Hestia. Riker would do Poseidon and Hera while Jesse had volunteered to send a few words to Hades and Persephone—who would most likely be down in the Underworld as well, since it was in the colder seasons.

Clarisse sat back down, and the three teammates dug in discussing the folder in quite murmurs between bites. They ignored the murmuring guests that surrounded them, for the time being.

When they left to go to their room after placing their plates in the bin, they pretended not to notice how every other guest in the dining area had avoided eating the meatballs.

**Ω Δ Σ**


	14. Secret Agents Save Hotel

_By now, I was pretty worried about Jesse._

_I think Clarisse was too, due to the way she kept sending him glances when she thought he wasn't looking._

_I'd never had such a stubborn friend before._

_Well, to be honest I'd never been as close to any of my 'friends' as I was to these two._

_I guess that means they're the real deal._

_If I'd known having friends would be so stressful—well, I'm not sure what exactly I would have done differently, but why can't things be easier?_

_I guess it never occurred to me that my two friend both had their own problems, too._

_Maybe that's why I was taken aback by the way Jesse was trying so hard to keep this from us, whatever it was._

_I guess I just assumed that any friends I made would be expected to tell me immediately if there was anything bothering them. I may be half a jackass, but I **take care**  of the people who matter to me._

_I've never had real friends before. Ones I could tell secrets to, and expect such information to be kept locked and hidden._

_Maybe Jesse's never had real friends either. Friends that he can trust._

_Maybe he was nervous—just like I was._

**Chapter Fourteen**

The minute the door closed behind them, Riker grabbed Jesse by the shoulders and tossed the redhead onto the duvet. Clarisse leaned against the table that was set across the room from the beds and crossed her arms, a steely look in her eyes, and Riker stepped back and placed his fists on his hips with a scowl.

"Alright," he allowed. "We're in the room. Speak up, or forever hold your silence..."

Jesse perked up, looking hopeful in a half-assed way that tugged on both of their hearts for some strange reason.

Riker's frown deepened. "—or at least until we're on the train. Jesse David Wolfe, what that  _fuck_  is wrong with you?"

"You do know that, whatever it is, we don't care?" Clarisse piped up from behind him, voice cool. "We're your friends, Jes. We ain't gonna throw you out just cuz you have a third  _ear_  or some other shit like that. Friends don't do that to each other."

"'Reese is right. Spill." Riker said.

Jesse blinked up at them, before releasing an explosive sigh and collapsing back on the bed, arms spread out, palms turnign over to clench the sheets in white-knuckled fists.

"On the train." He decided.

Riker and Clarisse both narrowed their eyes and exchanged very unhappy looks, releasing low, frustrated growls. Riker caught her eye, then shrugged his shoulders and the two sighed in unison while their redheaded friend closed his eyes and notably tried his best to ignore their presence.

Riker  _had_  said they'd let him wait until the train if he wanted, and the Jackson wasn't about to go back on his word.

It still hurt, that Jesse didn't seem to trust them, but Riker wouldn't betray the small trust he did have in them by forcing the southerner to tell them what was up.

Jesse, if he trusted them at all, would them them on his own time.

"We are on a mission," Riker still reminded him. Even if he and Clarisse respected Jesse and his privacy, this  _was_  slightly ridiculous. Just a little. "Even so, I'm not gonna force you. But  _please_  keep in mind that we can focus entirely on the task at hand  _and_  worry about you at the same time. And that could mean  _life or death_  in a serious situation. You know that."

"Yeah," he agreed. "I'll tell ya on the train."

Riker and Clarisse shared one last look, before Riker sighed and flipped onto the bed as well, and the blonde uncrossed her arms and wandered over to the fridge to put the leftover macaroni away.

Mac n' Cheese was a group favorite, it appeared.

It was almost blasphemy, now that they thought about it, that a lot of the other hotel patrons hadn't eaten much of the macaroni either, once they saw the three of them shovel a large amount into a take-away box.

Strange. The guests hadn't eaten the  _meatballs_  either, now that Riker thought about it.

Jesse rolled over in order to avoid getting pinned underneath his friend, and buried his face into a pillow. Riker tossed his sunglasses onto the nightstand and rubbed tiredly at his eyes.

"I suddenly feel like an old guy," he murmured.

Clarisse snorted, and began to dig through the clothing and accessories/weapons bag that Riker carried around, in search of the pajamas she'd thrown in earlier, back at the camp when they'd been packing the three bags that one of the Hermes campers had presented them with. Indirectly, since he'd told them his dad intended them to be gifts for Riker and Co. anyway—something the teen had seemed irritated about.

"Woes of the weary traveler," Jesse joked, voice muffled, and Riker shot him a crooked smile. Maybe Jesse did trust them a little. Enough to joke with them, at least.

The raven-haired teen shook his head and kicked off his combat boots, which he'd untied moments before. What was he thinking? Jesse was his friend—sure, the redhead was keeping something from them and seemed not to trust them enough to tell them, but Riker kind of was, too.

He was keeping his plan from them. He'd  _told_  them, too, that he wasn't going to tell them what he was intending to do once they got to the Underworld. Not that he didn't trust them, but because he was afraid they might try to stop him. And they'd accepted that. They hadn't been too enthusiastic, but they'd accepted it.

So what was different here? Maybe Jesse  _did_  trust them, but he was scared—scared of what? Scared of how they'd react once they found out whatever it was that was bothering him? Maybe Jesse had some type of eye disease, and he was afraid of what they'd think of it. Maybe he'd been teased about it when he was a kid—well,  _younger_. He was eleven-going-on-twelve. They were  _all_  still  _kids_...

Riker blinked at the ceiling, not even noticing when the lights went out. Clarisse murmured a goodnight and climbed into bed and Jesse wormed his way under the covers, but Riker wasn't listening. His eyes were wide open and sleep felt so far away.

That's right, wasn't it? They were just kids, not even actual  _teenagers_  yet(according to some social stipulations). How did everybody expect them to complete this missions with everything turning out okay? How did Zeus even  _believe_  Riker had the ability to steal his godly weapon right form under his own nose? How in the  _world_  did his douche of a father—and that term, he used  _so_  lightly—expect Riker to be able to clear his name—and was he even innocent? Why on earth did it all come down to Riker to stop this fucking... impending  _war_  between  _deities_? He was twelve! Why, oh  _why_ , couldn't the gods just _take care of their goddamn problems themselves_ —!

A hand landed on the side of his forehead, over his temple, and Riker twitched violently. He could hear Clarisse breathing evenly across the room, but Jesse's breath was right next to his ear, and he glanced over to see two tired, bright green eyes staring at him through the dark. Riker realized he was panting slightly, hyperventilating, and tried to slow down his breathing only for his throat to close up. He coughed, and then looked up to meet Jesse's gaze when his friend started to run his fingers through Riker's hair in an effort to calm him down.

"You okay?" Jesse whispered.

Riker sucked in a deep breath and held it for a second, blinking rapidly. He released it too quickly and spluttered. Jesse's hand ran through his hair and then paused, letting his hand rest on Riker's head. "Riker?"

"I'm alright, yeah." Riker admitted.

Jesse was silent for a minute, before his hand resumed playing with Riker's hair. The raven-haired teen hummed quietly. He needed a haircut soon, maybe. The hand stopped, and Jesse pulled it back under the covers. Riker pouted, rolling over, but he froze. Jesse was still staring at him, green eyes glittering in the dark and almost seeming to produce their own glow. It was eerie.

Riker frowned. Even in the dark, he was close enough to Jesse's face to see his eyes clearly—especially since there was still light filtering in through the curtains, and the moon was particularly bright that night, aside from the lights of the busy city that lay on the opposite side of the walls. One of Jesse's eyes, the right one, was somewhat off. The one that was irritating him. The iris was a bit...  _darker_ , somehow.

"I'm sorry," Jesse blurted, suddenly, and Riker was taken aback for a moment, surprised.

" _Sorry_? What  _for_?"

"I'm—it's... I just," Jesse sighed. "I know it's a bit... mean of me. Not to tell you... I mean, not mean, just... rude?  _No_..." He shook his head, red bangs falling into his irritated eye. He swept them away with a tense hand. "I just—I know you and Clarisse are kinda hurt I ain't tellin' you what's wrong, but..."

"Jes..."

"I just—I'm sorry for that," the redhead looked at him apologetically, looking like he was about to cry. "I know it's irrational, 'n all, but I'm a little... scared. 'Bout telling you guys. I mean, I 'aven't known ya long, and I've known 'Reese longer, but we neva really got close 'til you showed up, and now... I  _know_ , I can trust ya, but... I just—'m  _scared_."

Riker thought he looked more frustrated than anything. Jesse's southern accent tended to emphasize itself more when he was distressed. His chest hurt, seeing his friend like this, somewhere deep inside, still not as deep as it did when he thought about his mom. Even if he  _hadn't_  known Jesse for long, he and Clarisse were... really important to him.

"Well," he said, slowly. "Once you straighten yourself out and figure out that your fears are  _obviously_  completely unfounded, I expect you to  _spill_. But, Jesse, it's alright to have your secrets. I don't need to know everything about you. That would make this friendship a bit boring, wouldn't it?"

Jesse scoffed quietly, grinning through the dark. The smile was a bit wobbly, but it stayed.

"Guess so... Go to sleep, Jackson. I don't wanna hafta to deal with ya in the mornin' if you haven't gotten any rest. Chaos knows you ain't a mornin' person..."

Riker hit him with his pillow.

**Ω Δ Σ**

They booked seats on the next west-bound bus out of the city, and Clarisse calculated that it would take at least two days to get to the coastal states. The train they had meant to board's schedule had changed last minute—and Clarisse was blaming Hecate, goddess of the three paths. (As it was, they'd had three choices; the bus, the train, or an airline—and like hell they were riding in an airplane.)

They'd left the hotel in their 'agent' clothes and secured seats near the very back. The seats behind, in front of, and across the isle from theirs were left unoccupied, the other passengers deciding to give them their space. A teen couple had taken the seat across from them, but had migrated two seats forward after fifteen minutes for some reason the three half-bloods remained unaware of.

Riker and Clarisse kept sending suspicious glances toward the redheaded final member of their trio. His right eye was less red than before, and the visible irritation had gone down a miraculous amount. Some of it may have had to do with the nectar Riker had slipped into his friend's drink the night before, but they largely suspected that it had more to do with the midnight visit the youngest teen had paid to the suite's bathroom when he thought they'd both fallen asleep.

"Just because it looks better doesn't mean we're gonna let it go, moron." Clarisse hissed into his ear, and Jesse sank in his seat. She and Riker had purposefully selected the seat on either side of him, so he was basically stuck until the next stop, which was in five hours.

"It's not the train," he complained half-heartedly, but the two elder teens only fixed him with annoyed glares.

"Spill," Riker growled. " _Jesse_."

The pale adolescent Southerner sighed, flicking his bangs out of his right eye. "Um—just... hold on, okay?"

He took a deep breath, then reached into one of the side pockets of his messenger bag and pulled out a small case shaped like a figure eight. The two twelve-year-olds watched with a small amount of morbid fascination as he gentle struck his thumb and pointer finger into his irritated eye and pinched gently.

"So... you have bad eyesight?" Clarisse commented in a hushed tone, dubiously. "I don't see what the big deal is..."

She trailed off, and Riker immediately saw why. Jesse only took out one contact before closing the case and balancing it on his knee—and the contact had been  _green_.

"Um, Jes?"

He looked up, and their eyes widened.

"Whoa," Clarisse breathed. Jesse bit his lip nervously, glancing off to the side.

"That is so cool, you idiot," Riker jabbed him in the ribs. Jesse winced, then blinked up at the incredulously.

"I-it is?" He asked, slightly disbelieving.

"Heterochromea?" Clarisse retorted. "Of  _course_ , you bastard! Why the heck are you hiding it?"

Jesse blushed, sweeping his banged out of his eyes again—it was a nervous habit, Riker realized. He'd been doing it before Capture the Flag, too. "I-it isn't natural... I wasn't born with it. Purple is only found in albino people... And I had two green eyes, when I was born."

They blinked at him.

"Wait,' Clarisse paused. "What?"

Jesse leaned back into the seat, sighing heavily. The other two glanced around the bus, but apart from a few curious glances from the other passengers that they'd been receiving the entire ride, nothing was out of the ordinary and they weren't receiving any other unwanted attention. The leaned in closer, and Jesse continued in a lowered voice.

"Um, when I was three, dad did something to piss off Dionysus, and he gave me a curse—me being Ares' most recent kid, I guess," he shrugged at Clarisse and Riker's outraged expressions. "I-I don't really blame him, dad  _was_  being a dick... but he decided to curse me, and—it's really  _annoying_ , I guess. My eye's purple cuz that's Mr. D's color, and..."

"Jes..." Riker reached out and arm and tugged the younger teen against his side, and Clarisse, who was sitting in the spot nearest to the isle, leaned over to lay her head on his shoulder, both hands moving to envelope Jesse's right.

"I can... I can tell whether someone's lying or not." Jesse said, burying his head into the raven-haired demigod's shoulder. "I knew when mum was lying about her boyfriend hurtin' her, and I  _know_  that Tommy and Gideon aren't my step-dad's kids, only Evelyn is—the twins are the bastard's. I was too young to remember him. I was five. I always knew when the other kids lied about why they didn't want to play with me."

"Why wouldn't they?" Clarisse prodded Jesse's elbow.

"Mist makes the eye look a yellow color, cuz purple ain't natural. They thought it looked weird. It's.." Jesse sat up again, waving his hands with another sigh. "When people lie, I can see what they're really thinking, in words that kinda," he shook his head, "float 'round their head. And they're in different colors. Red's for bad people, white's for good people. And purple is for monsters—that's how I avoided most of them when I was little. I've known about my dad since I was a brat."

Riker frowned. "That... sounds a bit like synaesthesia." He replied.

Jesse pulled his legs up and buried his face in his knees. "I'm  _not_  crazy," he muttered.

"Of course you're not," Clarisse wrapped an arm around his shoulder, knocking the Riker's away as she glared at him. "Rike's just being an inconsiderate jackass."

Jesse sucked in a deep breath, fixing his sunglasses back over his eyes. "Ha. Um... Well, like I said. None of the other kids wanted to be my friends, and I always knew when Jace didn't want to play with me—and I knew  _why_ ; it was cuz 'is friends thought I was weird an' he-he didn't want me 'round cuz I'd chase 'em away or sumthin'."

Riker punched him gently in the arm, and Jesse tossed him a wry smile.

"I guess... I've never really had any actual friends before, 'till I met 'Reese. And that was more acquaintance 'til you came along, Riker. I didn't tell ya not cuz I didn't  _trust_  ya, it's just..."

"Nah, we get it Jes," Riker said, wrapping his arm back around the younger teen's shoulder and joining Clarisse in very slowly hugging the life out of him.

"Curse was actually gonna be worse," Jesse went on. "But mum, she made a deal with Dionysus. That why she and pa work in the wine-business. Mum used to have another job, but she quit and worked the vineyard into a something of a monopoly and ditched the bastard boyfriend after my fifth birthday."

Riker reached over and slipped the contact case back into Jesse's bag and tossed it onto the floor by their feet. He sat back. "That's right. Forgot your parents dealt with alcohol—when we turn twenty-one, we're throwing a fucking _party_  at your house."

Jesse breathed in sharply, then explode into almost silent snickers. He ducked out from under Clarisse's arm, and both boys sat back as she stretched out to lay across their laps. "Sure thing, s'long as mum is alright with it."

They spent the next few hours like that, the two boys leaning against each other and the blond girl lying across their legs. Clarisse spent some time flipping through her folders and Jesse and Riker were transfixed on the screens of their phones, sometimes comparing them. A few low comments were uttered, but silence remained dominant. Finally, when the light outside began to fade and the road they traveled was lined with lamp posts, they began to nod off, one by one. First Clarisse, head resting on her folded arms; and then Riker, his face buried into Jesse's shoulder. And Jesse was the last to go, barely able to keep his eyes open as he stared out the window.

However, just as he was closing his eyes, something outside the window flashed—a face.

Or what he thought was a face. Sleep fled him, and he leaned forward to glance back the way they'd come. The bus drove onward, but Jesse felt a chill travel down his spine as he saw what stayed behind them.

There, frozen underneath the light of one of the lamp posts, steadily getting smaller and smaller, was one of the statues from Medusa's garden.

And it was staring right at him.

**Ω Δ Σ**

"Check it out," Clarisse yawned as she bit into her croissant, tossing the morning paper over her shoulder.

Riker caught it in his free hand, the other occupied with holding onto his chocolate muffin. He shook it back and forth a few times to flip it open, and smirked.

"Aw shit, I almost feel  _bad_..." He huffed.

Jesse set his glass of milk down on the table and leaned forward to read over the older boy's shoulder. He blinked sleepily, "'Hotel Stirling Under Inspection'... isn't that the place we stayed at the night before last?"

Clarisse nodded. "Yeah. Apparently the guests complained about food being contaminated and the state got involved."

The redhead blinked. "And, what—that was  _our_  fault?"

Riker cast him a glance. "The meatballs and the macaroni were the two dishes most mentioned; says it right here," he jabbed a finger at a paragraph two places down from the headline. "We used the meatballs as offering for the gods, and boxed up the macaroni for later cuz it fucking  _rocks_. It's the two foods that we didn't publicly eat."

They were all sitting in a diner that was nearby the station, wearing their casual clothes and waiting for the train to arrive. It was a on-way trip to Washington, so they'd need to find another way home, but it didn't have any other stops besides one in Colorado—which was useful, since they only had a set amount of time to get the master bolt back to Zeus before anyone threw a hissy-fit. They'd get off in Denver and grab the next train that went directly down to L.A.

"I feel really bad," Clarisse shifted in her seat. "Can we, like, write a note or something and say the food was fine?"

The two boys turned to stare at her. "We don't have time for that." Riker stated.

Clarisse's bottom lip jutted out slowly, and her brows twitched downward to meet. "' _Rike_..."

Jesse stared at them with half-lidded eyes. He adjusted his beanie and pulled it down to rest just over his eyebrows, slipping down in his seat and yawning loudly. "Eh."

"We kinda got a shitty job to do for our useless relative—"

"Pleeeaaaase," Clarisse pouted, raising her brows and widening her eyes. Riker stiffened in his chair, and Jesse smirked from where he was dozing off.

The raven-haired quest-leader sucked in a deep breath, turning to glare venomously at the salon across the street. "... _Fucking_ —"

The evening paper contained a different story.

— _inspections at the Hotel Stirling were abruptly canceled when an [anonymous] letter bearing the Central Intelligence Agency(CIA) seal of approval arrived in lead investigator Ronald Herring's inbox early this afternoon, detailing that the food at Hotel Stirling was perfectly fine and completely safe for consumption. The mere existence of this letter, according to large public opinion, indicated that—_

"The Mist really does love you, Riker," Jesse breathed as he looked over the nighttime edition of the  _New York Times_.

His friend scowled, sinking down in his seat as the train ambled through the Iowa countryside. His arms crossed over his chest and he had a slightly nonplussed look on his features. Clarisse's lips twitched upward from her window-seat beside him. Several nearby passengers kept casting them what they apparently hoped to be covert glances, and Jesse had began to make a game of counting all the failed attempts he managed to catch.

Riker had decided to wear the 'agent' clothes for the train ride. He was beginning to regret it, he thought morosely, as he tugged his black leather jacket tighter around his shoulders.  _And whats wrong with the fucking AC in this compartment—it's freezing!_

"It's nearly nine," he said instead, glancing at the amused Ares campers. "I'll take first watch—Jes looks about to pass out."

Clarisse nodded at him, and Jesse rolled his eyes but complied, scooting over to give his seat to the raven. They leaned back in the train seats and adjusted their sunglasses.

Then, Jesse sat up and tugged on Riker's sleeve. "Hey, uh, I almost forget. Got somethin' to tell ya."

Riker raised a brow from behind his own shades, and the redhead leaned closer, speaking in low tones. "On the bus from 'Jersey, I was 'bout to go to sleep, but... it was fucking creepy man. Saw something like a face I the window? Then, get this—I looked back, behind the bus, and..."

Riker frowned, leaning closer and wrapping an arm around Jesse's shoulder to give their conversation more privacy from any curious nearby ears. "What?"

"One of Em's statues was under a spot light, few spots back from the bus. It just stood there and looked at me," Jesse shuddered. "Thing didn't follow any more though. Couldn't sleep after that, but didn't see it again."

" _Chaos_..." Riker groaned quietly. "That's why you're so tired today! Well,  _shit_. More godsdamned problems, yay..." He rubbed the bridge of his nose underneath his shades, then leaned back, thumping his friend on the arm. "Get some sleep, Second. I'll keep watch. We'll talk about this in the morning. Corner booth of the breakfast car."

The redhead nodded dubiously, leaning back and closing his eyes.

Riker settled in his own seat, running a precautionary eye over the other passengers in their car. He cast a glance to either end to briefly examine the two door at the end, then the side entrance. He scouted all possible escape routes if things turned sour and they had to run again. He didn't expect it, but it was good to always be on the safe side and be prepared—he'd learned that from a street buddy who'd been knifed and left for dead in a alley brawl.

Finally, he gave a silent sigh and zipped up his jacket. He hesitantly cast a glance out the train window, but there was nothing there. Just a vast expanse of flat land and cornfields as far as the eye could see.

Riker pursed his lips and turned forward again, keeping an eye on their surroundings. Moving statues, that was just  _fucking great_.

**Ω Δ Σ**

They were in Colorado, and it was hot, and dry, and Clarisse  _really_  hated it. She looked downright pissed as she stalked down the ramp after the train doors opened, with Riker and Jesse following behind at a sedated pace, not looking forward to having lunch with her. Several bystanders had to backpedal in order to not run into her, and she pushed her way out of the station and into the nearest restaurant—

Which happened to be Elway's a high-end steak house. The boys shared a grin, pushing their way through the doors.

"I think our benefactor can pay for this meal," Riker said, calling up Gabe's credit card from the messenger bag. Jesse smirked, and Riker slid the card into the side pocket, ready to be grabbed later when the bill came.

The waitress who was manning the desk up front stared at them for a second, before realization spread across her face and her pretty wine-colored eyes widened. She almost fell over herself grabbing them menus and leading them to a table, despite the fact that there was obviously an entire line of other customers waiting to be seated—and who didn't look too jealous that they were being served first, too busy examining the three 'agents' and murmuring to each other.

Clarisse looked dignified even as she collapsed in the chair at the three person table a booth by a window near the door—it seem the waitress had watched too many spy-movies, but Riker appreciated the spot, glad he didn't have to ask for it. It's proximity with the exit caused him to relax slightly.

"Lamb chop appetizer," Jesse demanded as soon as he claimed his own seat. Riker dragged his chair over to Clarisse's side of the table so his back wasn't to the rest of the restaurant, and they flipped the menues open in unison.

"You been here before?" Riker asked, raising a brow.

Jesse shook his head. "No, but I've read reviews. Mum was thinking about a road trip and we scouted hotels and stuff. I want the damn  _lamb chops_."

The two other teens shared a look and shrugged. They waved the nervous waitress over and requested the appetizer that had Jesse in such a tizzy, and she took the time to collect their drink orders as well. Once she left, they looked over the lunchtime menu. Riker decided on the calamari, and Clarisse was pretty excited to eat the spicy steak chili while Jesse was dead set on ordering the farm-raised salmon dish.

"Oh, look," Clarisse piped up, "side dishes."

They looked them over, but decided not to get any since Riker didn't want to spend too much. The meals were a bit expensive and he wanted to save up their funds just in case they needed to grab a cab in LA.

Of course, it didn't really matter—since they wouldn't be paying for the meals after all.

"Um," the waitress tentatively spoke up as she was setting their root beers on the table-top. "Th-there's a man here to see you...? Uh, sirs—a-and ma'am!"

They paused, slowly setting their glasses down again from where they'd picked them up. They glanced at each other silently, debating. Clarisse tilted her head and Jesse raised an eyebrow. Riker rested his elbow on the tablet and left his half-formed fist hover a bit in front of his mouth, thumb near his bottom lip as he thought the situation over.

After a minute or so, in which the young teen-aged waitress had began to get increasingly fidgety, Riker nodded at her. "Bring him over." He said almost curtly.

She gratefully ran off, looking relieved, and Clarisse hit Riker's in the shoulder for being too mean. But she was just as distracted by the sudden word as they were.

Who had come for them now?

As the girl returned, she was carrying their appetizer with her. But the man following after her caused Jesse and Clarisse to stiffen, straightening in their seat with wide eyes.

"Riker," Jesse hissed hurriedly, jabbing him in the ribs. "That's  _him_ —that's our  _dad_ —he's—"

The rest of the patrons in the restaurant had slowly paused their conversations and their waitress girl looked a bit frazzled. Riker slowly straightened in his seat, giving the man a once-over. He was  _tall_ —taller than his sensei at the gym. His arms were muscular and looked vaguely related to the tree branch of a maple tree—and Riker wasn't able to muster up the guts to look lower to see what his leg muscle were in comparison.

He was dressed like one of the bikers you'd see in an epic fast-action movie. He had on a form-fitting tank that was the same bloody shade of red as the one Riker had worn back at the camp, underneath a black leather duster—hell, even his tight pants were black leather, tucked into combat boots. His skin had a nice tan and his hair was cut in a military style, close cropped to his head. His eyes were hidden behind brand-name sunglasses.

Riker leaned back in his chair to glance out the window, and sure enough, the was a large Harley Davidson parked haphazardly between two other cars—a green Yukon and a navy SUV. It's seats were also leather—except it had a lighter tint, making it look like, well, the human flesh of a white guy.

Riker didn't doubt the possibilities of that being  _real_.

Their waitress carefully set the appetizer on the table between them, then get herself out of the man's— _Ares_ '—way. The god, because Riker didn't doubt Jesse for a second—gave a cocky grin, stealing an empty chair from the next table over and turning it around backwards, sitting in the space next to Jesse with the back of the chair between his legs. The redhead was barely breathing, being in close proximity with his Olympian father, and the people at the table Ares had stolen his seat from didn't utter a sound.

"You kids," the man chuckled in a deep baritone, "have caused  _quite_  the stir up on the mountain."

Riker breathed in slowly through his nose, then let it out through his mouth. "Yo, Lord Ares. What's the word from Olympus?"

"Hermes' been running around loudly proclaiming the adventures of his new favorite trio of heroes." The man informed them, before glancing down at the open menus. "What, no side dishes? Elway's has the best damn fries and mashed potatoes in the western hemisphere."

Riker crossed his arms with a sulking scowl. "Too expensive."

"Well fuck that," Ares waved a hand dismissively, motioning their waitress girl over. She scampered closer, clutching her notepad to her chest. "I'm paying."

The three demigod's suddenly sat straight, and traded dark, triumphant smirks.

"Calamari and the New York strip steak," Riker told her, watching her quickly scribble down his order. "Mashed potatoes on the side."

"Spicy steak chili," Clarisse went next. "Baked potato side. And— _ohhh_ , cherry creek salad!"

"Salmon," Jesse shot out immediately after the blond finished her order. "With Gyro—grilled beef. And cottage cheese on the side."

The waitress let out a sharp breath as she finished writing it all down, then turned shakily toward Ares, who was looking over the menu despairingly.

"I shouldn't have offered," he huffed. "What are you brats, black holes? I'll have the lobster cocktail, sweetheart," He said to their waitress, "with a side of basil pesto."

She jotted it down and took off for the kitchens. Ares turned to them and glared half-heartedly.

"Fuck you too, little assholes."

Riker beamed at him proudly. "Well, you did offer," he reminded the god. "I'm just glad we won't have to use the bastard's credit card yet."

"The longer we wait, the better," Jesse quietly mentioned, eying his father speculatively. His eye closed tightly behind his shades, and he reached up to rub at his right eye tiredly.

Ares caught the motion. "Oh," the man sighed. "Hey there, Jesse."

"Father," The red head nodded, lowering his eyes and he let his hands rest in his lap again.

The god stared at him for a short minute, causing the young teen to fidget anxiously while Clarisse and Riker shared silent looks. Then, Ares leaned his arms against the back of the chair and cracked his knuckles absentmindedly. The teens relaxed.

"So, why are you here?" Riker asked, ignoring the incredulous looks sent to him by his friends—the children of the man sitting across from him. "We're, well, kinda  _busy_  at the moment."

"I was gonna give you a little side-quest," Ares muttered gruffly, snatching one of the lamb chops and biting into it. He held back a moan at the taste and swallowed. "But I guess it depends on whether you guys wanna take it or not."

"Nah," Riker said immediately before Clarisse or Jesse could agree to anything, crossing his arms. "We don't really have time for anything right now."

"Aw, c'mon!" Ares complained, setting his fists on the table. "Hephaestus got my  _shield_. An' he set a trap and stuff so no way in hades am I going myself."

Riker wasn't bending. "Go recruit one of the half bloods from camp, then." He suggested. "They've all been dying for quests of their own."

Ares narrowed his eyed behind his dark shades. He crossed his own arms. "I'll pay the rest of your way, if you go get my shield. Then you can splurge the rest of your allowance on whatever you want."

Clarisse hit her raven-haired friend in the ribs. "Riker! We're gonna be in  _fucking_   _Los Angeles_! Please, please, please—"

Riker's eye twitched, and Jesse hid a snort by burying his face in his hands.

"Details," the Jackson demanded, and Ares' mouth twisted into a smirk. He looked between his daughter and the boy in front of him, then glanced over at Jesse. Finally, he turned back and leaned forward.

"Alright, as I said, Hephaestus is  _kinda_  holding my shield hostage, and..."

He went on to explain about a very probable embarrassing trap, and that they'd have to find a way around it themselves. It was in Waterworld, an abandoned water park right on the edge of the South Platte River, right across the trail from the downtown aquarium and Fishback Park.

Riker thought over the facts, sipping on his root beer, then fixed Ares with a flat stare. "We do this, and you'll pay our way..."

Ares nodded. "S'right."

"...and I want your sunglasses."

The god stilled. Then, he blinked. "Wait, huh?"

"Your sunglasses.  _Mine_."

Ares balked. " _Fuck_  no, brat! Like hell am I letting your greasy little paws all over my babies!"

"Technically..." Riker announced, kicking up a foot to rest on Jesse's knee and reaching his arm around Clarisse's shoulders—he raised an eyebrow at the man.

Ares stared at him, mouth working up and down. He hissed out a furious breath. "Dammit.  _Alright_ , you can have my sunglasses—ain't like I can't get news ones in a snap—but  _only_  if you bring Aphrodite's scarf back too. Should be in the same place, she couldn't find it earlier."

"Deal," Riker decided, reaching his free hand out.

Ares considered him, then took it, giving it a firm shake.

"I like you," the god decided with a fierce grin, which Riker returned.

The waitress was back, then, with their food balanced on a large serving platter. One of her co-workers, a young male with sandy hair, followed behind her with an identical platter in his own hand. He looked just nervous as his friend, light green eyes flickering from one teen to the other and finally the lone god.

They silently set out the meals and stepped back. Both teens gave short half-bows and scurried away to wait on other tables—preferably on the far side of the restaurant.

"Hilarious," Ares spoke up as he dug into his seafood, "that everyone thinks you're secret fucking  _agents_."

Riker shrugged. "Mist loves me, apparently."

The god bobbed his head, chewing thoughtfully as he eyes the teen across from him. "Damn right she does. Fucking weird if you ask me—she usually  _hates_  you heroes."

Clarisse blinked slowly. "...She?"

Her father sat back, stealing Jesse's root beer and taking a gulp. The redhead sighed despondently, munching on his sandwich. "Yeah. Always complaining 'bout how you tykes cause her too much work, making a scene everywhere you go."

Riker pouted. "I thought we were being shockingly low-key, for a quest."

"Well, actually, you  _are_ ," Ares laughed. "Most of you half-bloods screw themselves over and royally fuck everything up. But looks like you guys really are fucking  _secret agents_ —being all nondescript and shit. It's irritating the hell out of Zeus, cuz he can't tell where the hell you three are half the time. Uncle P is pretty depressed, though," the immortal fixed Riker with a stare of his own.

The teen shrugged. "No one but himself to blame."

Ares tilted his head for a moment, then nodded. "Sure."

They finished their meals in silence, Jesse and Clarisse sometimes making small talk and Riker and Ares adding points. Finally, Ares threw his napkin on his plate and, with a sorrowful sigh, waved the waitress girl over. He reaching into his back pocket and took out a leather wallet that had a long chain attaching it to one of his belt loops.

"You three are gonna run me dry, and I'm a fucking Olympian." He complained. The teen only smiled.

Without further adieu, they raced away to the greyhound station with pre-paid tickets with a promise to meet the immortal at the bus station in a maximum of three hours. They had a side-quest to complete.

**Ω Δ Σ**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elway's IS in fact a real restaurant, and I read their lamb chop appetizer is the bomb. It's about a block away from one of Denver's Amtrack stations, so... there's that.
> 
> All the dishes I mentioned in this chapter are actual selections off Elway's menu, and Ares' bill would be, including his own order, exactly $169. Jesse's salmon was 30 bucks, and Riker's strip steak was the most expensive; $39.50.


End file.
